The Firmament

"The term poetry, applied to the least degraded and least intellectualized forms of expression of the state of loss, can be considered synonymous with expenditure; it in fact signifies, in the most precise way, creation by means of loss. Its meaning is therefore close to that of sacrifice." 

Georges Bataille

I. Creation

The world, with words of wisdom He has wrought
Unfurled the dome from His unraveled thought
He laid the rock amidst Sheol, He did
Surround the rock with His mountains splendid
He sent then forth the Man to thrive and dwell
Upon him laid He His eternal spell
That fiends below may ne'er disrupt his joy
Nor may the cunning Foe devise a ploy-
Deprive him of the blessing He bestowed-
He guided Man with stars along the road.

II. The Marring

For Man is faithless, quick to go astray
His Foe at last did bring to world dismay
Forgot his Lord, forsook his past, alas!
His guidance lost and empty was his glass
The sweet nectar he once did quaff went dry
The only answer was his endless sigh
To many prayers day and night he wailed
Alas his Foe was mighty he prevailed
At last the Cherubs joined the begging choir
Persuaded Him that Man was writhing dire
He spoke again His final word, begot
A son to spread His word, -for they forgot-
Remind the joyous vision of the past
His word embodied roamed the lenghts so vast
The Foe, withal he was debauched and sly
The word of God, he condemned him to die
Upon an altar heinous, hallowed Son
Was silenced, God's design was thus undone.

III. The Fall

The bard, one day, he found a scroll of yore
In lines contains the lost, forgotten lore
The way to save the world, renew, restore!
The darkened sky would sadden him no more.
Rekindled he, the fire that ashen cold
He sang a song that told the tales of old
Alas no one would harken him, for they
Were deaf and blind and mute they looked away
With fury guiding now the tongue of his
He sang his last and then invoked Abyss
He burnt his lute the fumes unleashed and free
They went up smoking, reached Ætheral Sea
No more was Logos, Word then ceased to be
The Lord then granted angry Bard his plea
Now hails on us the rain that is the Doom:
The beauty thence inspire us solely gloom

The vermin 'neath it shall forever squirm:
The firmament is now no longer firm

M. Bahadırhan Dinçaslan

"Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears. Melancholy is thus the most legitimate of all the poetical tones."

Edgar Allan Poe