"A Gnostic War Chant" - незаконченная эпизодическая поэма. Может, и завершу её, кто знает... Вот пара эпизодов.
A Gnostic War Chant
I.
The Chancellor speaks:
Your continental Majesty -
please do divert your blessed attention
from our magnificent festivities -
perhaps we should take measures now.
it's not just nasty thieves
and run-off heretics
in those Eastern steppes anymore.
He's grown too big a fish for our muddy pond.
a continental gangster
with a schizophrenic personality split
who would like to dance
the entropy tango
on our bones
if not today than tomorrow
if we let it all go.
So we ought to take measures now.
Send a New Western Hero(TM) out.
There're droves of fools around.
stout Light-believers
wannabe heroes
mad would-be killers
with silly baby faces
with their cheap thrills
and their hate faith---
From A Gnostic War Chant
Once, Love and wrath united you and me -
Two men and Gods. But is the difference too real:
However sweet to me the Truth may be -
The thirst for victory is greater still.
I walked on sculls and diamonds in these lands,
In rotten fields I was a desert storm.
This planet's life is secured by my hands
And ships victorious return to home ports.
The Eastern Seas in brilliant welcome run
To greet eternity and a free world's rebirth.
Old continent awaits her greatest son -
But no. Gods should not dwell on Earth.
Old healer Time does walk on, stepping bold.
Sun sets for me the hour to depart.
To leave my dear, bitter Realm of Gold,
Our Earth. And follow you, my heart.
Forth on my destined Way, too far
Into the gentle dance of sparkling worlds.
Gone, never to return, like you, my star.
With no more human wrath or human hurts.
From A Gnostic War Chant
the Usurper speaks
(on his meeting with the Star of Wrath and on Amalie's death)
***
In mortal eyes I watched all the scorn
and all the rage of empty lifeless space.
In mortal mind a desperate wisdom burned,
controlled wrath and greed and love and hate.
He'd given away his soul for Love and lust
The Dark became his roots beneath the grass.
His steps made age-old empires crumble to dust -
A god and man, both less and more than us.
For all his faith he trembled in his pain.
The shadow on his throat - a crimson gash.
Free human hands - and clanking of a chain:
That Grace is far too hard for mortal flesh.