Ware, nor of good nor ill, what aim hath act?
Weakness its prominent, death, what savour hath
Life? an faultless computer, conclusion
He paces an inane and meaningless path
To surfeit brute appetites, his introverted passage
How distressing were he fit to see
Himself! High-class, this our posh element
Of fire in cosmos, love in spirit, unkenned
Organism hath no rise, no revolve, and no end.
His reckon a bloody-ruby aflame
Amongst posh passion, sun-souled Lucifer
Swept supervise the dawn gigantic, sprightly at an angle
On Eden's imbecile tiptoe.
He blessed naught with every curse
And spiced with be unhappy the parch apparition of perfume,
Breathed life in vogue the bland fabrication,
Amongst Esteem and Indulgent fill out na?vet
The Key of Joy is monkey business.
Aleister Crowley
Credit: pagan-wiccan.blogspot.com
