“Behold! There’s one that’s peaks, Without to whisper what hath spoken The core of what a curse of bliss, thou lore! It such as young, too old, an eye that seeks Within where’s path the twister thee awoken, Amid the roar where dragon’s lurking shore A sun, thou hides the moon that shines, thine fore!..
Thou ART what’s spark that rhythm thee finds Thine Soul as shining what’s above, below!.. Where’s birth, or death, o, Muse?!.. Thy lore, For what one speaks and twists all minds, Amid the roar that binds a whole, from high, to low, For I – the dot, to cease what’s ticking within core?!..”