Poetry is the language of God. God is the Self and the Self is Nature. Nature speaks not in the deaf tones of the rational. Instead, She speaks the language of senseless sensuous passion. Nature is alive, not dead. She is erotic, not despondent.
Through our rational, logical and standardized culture, we have lost our lives. We are simply the walking dead. We are dead to our Self for we are dead to Nature. Nature and Self are one.
The Triumph of Fate
Speak only the darkness of lies.
Enslave the creative woman
With the threat she poses
fondling your ego’s death in her hands
Die, slumbering blubbering fool!
For 10,000 years you have lied
On the death beds of the masses
Telling them: The birth maiden has died
Enslaved on your back
The masses shake in…
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