My eyes conceive the world known, yet more they comprehend,
A scope of things of this world not, too great to apprehend.
For what we see by truth is by our minds a pure perception,
And in this law we see our truths a mighty self-conception.

A sword’s strike trails the softest caress,
The greatest blow a leaf that falls to rest.
An anguished scream not but a faintly breeze,
Ruthless thunder an ancient soldier, falling to battered knees.b

A tune upon the air calls to me, my angelic being,
Obliged am I to follow, yet follow I do not, this tune be mine own seeing.
I am myself in beauty, my own extending into content,
Though within my heart I find yet a timid relent.

That which I wish to see need not be true,
Yet that which I loathe to look upon, to it mine eyes I glue.
An Angel I shall always be, that corrupt shall I ever see,
Yet what’s to be true seeing’s humble fee?

Perhaps my fee’s to ever stare,
Into my foreign soul so clean and fair,
And to wander through the black, with angelic light to mind,
As I delve deeper to that which only soul can bind.

Upon a darkened path I ever-wandered
Within my mind dwelled queries, ever pondered.
Oh the light that shines, the birds that sing,
A moon that glows, a wasp that stings.

These be true in all their sweet,
Enlightenment from them I do entreat.
Yet from their songs and stings I find not but a stare,
That which knows as master that be plainly there.

And so doomed am I to be ever subject,
To that which highest being cannot object.