Beauty is painful to the weeping heart
For harmony is the breathe of gods
And not the sigh of mortality
The blue bed stands still
Thundering claps slapping its paws
Till blood is water
And milk is sun
The air heaves with cosmic intent
For time is serpent of square form
The midnight air crows
A blossom die of sinking salt
A martyr mired with guilt
Of hearts squealed in vain
The world turns on itself
All is dark and all is light
Yet naught is known
Of that which is known
The end is the beginning
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