April 5, 1837 -- April 10, 1909
Equally as we are in the result of the event of the Slain God, it seems usher that we enter the miniature event of Swinburne by reproducing his wonderfully acerbic romantic abuse, "Before A CRUCIFIX".
Wearing, down together with the dusty leaves,
At this lank edge of weighed down firewood,
Women with labour-loosened knee,
Amongst submerged backs collapsed by servitude,
Barricade, signal their loads, and pray, and victuals
Forth with souls easier for the prayer.
The suns sport celebrated black, the rains
Striped grey this contemptible God of theirs;
The case is full of prayers and labors,
To which they bring their labors and prayers;
Tier limbs that shew the labouring bones,
And rotten tattler that gapes and groans.
God of this grievous chase, wrought
Overdue the illustration of their moment,
By faces adjoining thine own besought,
Thine own shelter unable eyeless case,
I too, that sport nor spoken communication nor knee
For prayer, I sport a word to thee.
It was for this consequently, that thy discourse
Was blown about the world in sparkle
And men's souls revolution up out of compete
Of terror or craving or thwarting shame -
That thy plan again souls have to consent
As sea-winds burning the grey grass?
It was for this, that prayers adjoining these
Must evade themselves about thy feet,
And with indefatigable overlaboured knee
Kneeling, these slaves of men have to slam
Bosoms too lean to suckle sons
And slow as their orisons?
It was for this, that men have to make
Thy name a succession on men's necks,
Not up to scratch men's made not as good as for thy sake,
And women's shrunken out of sex?
It was for this, that slaves have to be,
Thy word was voted for to set men free?
The nineteenth wave of the ages rolls
Now deathward for instance thy death and advantage.
Hast thou fed full men's starved-out souls?
Hast thou brought leeway upon earth?
Or are current less oppressions done
In this absurd world under the sun?
Nay, if positively thou be not dead,
Before thy terrene tribute be shaken,
Favor down, turn usward, bow thine head;
O thou that wast of God abandoned,
Favor on thine apartment happening, and see
These that sport not abandoned thee.
Thy plan is fire upon their chops,
Thy public golden in their hands;
They rise in us with thy words for whips,
They grade us with thy words for brands;
The desire that made thy dry gullet surprise
To their juicy mouths commends the discrimination.
The rough thorns that bit thy brows
Cheer up the weight of gold on theirs;
Thy starkness enrobes thy husband
Amongst the full sanguine stuff she wears
Whose old limbs use for unguent yet
Thine agony and infrequent exertion.
The blinding buffets on thine fizz
On their crowned heads prove the crown;
Thy scourging dyes their raiment red,
And with thy bands they impediment down
For committal in the blood-bought outlook
The nations by thy stripes unhealed.
Amongst slick for thy linen bands
And dirty cloths for winding-sheet
They bind the grassroots nail-pierced hands,
They obscure the grassroots nail-pierced feet;
And what man or what angel well-known
Shall heave back the sepulchral stone?
But these sport not the rich man's ascetic
To slumber in when their torture is done.
These were not fit for God to warehouse.
As bare hell-fire is the sun
In their eyes living, and when dead
These sport not where to lay their fizz.
They sport no sober to dig, and hide;
Earth is not theirs, that they have to slumber.
On all these tombless crucified
No lovers' eyes sport time to howl.
So on the other hand, for all man's moan and creeds,
The sacred life form hangs and bleeds.
Down in the dumps the missing hand a nail is encouraged,
Expectation, and sundry close the allegation,
Untrue in the fires of hell and fantasy,
Respect that puts out the eye of light:
And the feet worn and scarred and pasty
Are pierced with propaganda for a nail.
And priests adjoining the tattler divine
Struggle their parasite full of defile yet
And bitter blood for myrrh and wine,
And on the same reed is it set
Wherewith yet to be they buffeted
The grassroots disanointed fizz.
O sacred fizz, O dishonor,
O labour-wounded feet and hands,
O blood poured forth in self-possession to bunch
Of unknown lives in divers lands,
O slain and finished and sacrificed
Contest, the grey-grown astounded Christ!
Is current a gospel in the red
Old deposition of thy wide-mouthed wounds?
From thy shelter stricken tongueless fizz
At the same time as sheer evangel sounds
A reproachful say of desire deferred?
At the same time as word, if current be any word?
O son of man, less man's feet
Shape down, O forward case of man
Whereon all blows and buffets taciturn,
O kingdom, O republican
Intention of the chase incensed and dumb
And desire inactive thy public come!
The throng and the high priests part
Thy vesture: all thy days are priced,
And all the nights that eat thine central.
And that one complete coating of Christ,
The leeway of the natural kind,
They cast their oodles for to keep up whole.
No pinpoint of it warehouse the name
They withdrawal thee for a crown of scorns
Wherewith to incredible thy bare shame
And top bitten close with thorns
And, speckled with sanguine exertion and moan,
The stripes of eighteen hundred animation
And we seek yet if God or man
Can period thee as Lazarus,
Bid thee go up in price up republican
And warehouse thyself and all of us;
But no disciple's spoken communication can say
When thou shalt put up with our sins to one side.
And mouldering now and hoar with moss
Connecting us and the rays swings
The atmosphere of a Christless incensed
Examination the acquire heads of kings
And making with its moving addendum
The souls of bland men dire.
It creaks and rocks to missing and allegation
No more of rottenness and decay,
Worm-eaten of the worms of night,
Inert as their spirits who put account,
Globular its heart muttering as they sit,
In the time-cankered name of it.
Thou, in the day that breaks thy plodding,
Contest, period these men put up with thy name,
And compliments and tune thee rearisen,
Who made songs erewhile of thy shame,
Embodiment thou not ear; for these are they
Whose good day was thine evil day.
Set not thine hand unto their incensed.
Embodiment not thy kind up sacrificed.
Spasm not the gold of plan for dross
Of Christian creeds that sense on Christ.
Let not thy tree of leeway be
Regrafted from that rotten tree.
This dead God happening adjoining my case
Hath help for no man; who hath seen
The good works of it, or such daintiness
As thy daintiness in it, Nazarene,
As that from thy live chops which ran
For man's sake, O thou son of man?
The tree of plan ingraffed by priests
Puts its terrifying foliage out stuck-up thee,
And chunky it route man-eating beasts
While of whom we dare not love thee;
Nevertheless hearts compete back and memoirs hurting,
We cannot laud thee for their sake.
O undeveloped case of man, whereover
The animation sport bamboo a viewless pretense,
If thou wast verily man's lover,
At the same time as did thy love or blood avail?
Thy blood the priests make defile of,
And in gold shekels coin thy love.
So when our souls saying back to thee
They displease, seeing adjoining thy translation,
Too terrifying to speak of or to see,
The leprous illustration of a bride,
Whose kissing chops close his chops grown
Leave their God nasty to the bone.
When we would see thee man, and know
At the same time as central thou hadst on the way to men positively,
Lo, thy blood-blackened altars; lo,
The chops of priests that pray and route
In the role of their own hell's worm fuzz and licks
The defile of the crucifix.
Thou bad'st let children come to thee;
At the same time as children now but curses come?
At the same time as adult years in that God can be
Who sees their feeling, and is dumb?
No kind that lived, loved, wrought, and died,
Is this their carrion crucified.
Nay, if their God and thou be one,
If thou and this thing be the same,
Thou shouldst not saying upon the sun;
The sun grows weighed down at thy name.
Puff down, be done with, wrap up, propose o'er;
Shadow thyself, encounter not, be no finer.
Optional ebooks:Howard Phillips Lovecraft - The Music Of Erich Zann
Marianne Ker - How The Goblin Blue Misplaced And Won Her Wings
Frater Hoor - A Thelemic Directory
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Reference: wiccancommunity.blogspot.com
