Empedocles said that love comes out of Chaos
Twisting up and then unraveling the rope.
That unsorting the elements, muddling the order, mixing
Gives the momentum from which love leaps, as the spindle
Twirling back up the shaft, winds and unwinds.
But I do not think that love is why the dark glitter
At every tum of beauty pulls us down :
As blood threads flesh this wild and greedy dark
Veins existence.
Fighting the elements
Is what has made us human, and doing so kills us.
Some would say:
Ride the rails then, swing and catch the trapeze bars,
Jump on the bumping cars, run off, twist the handles
To crash into the next, leap off laughing
And dodge the lumbering furies ;
Like the graceful ne'er-do-wells who cavort and slap
Their boards about on concrete under the walkways,
Leap to the arms of the magnet your iron is set to,
Ride the lurid glitter, the spume of the dark.
Konstanlin Pavlov
New Soul
Death? - a business trip, another mission, another image?
A R.eincarnation of yesterday's Incarnation ...
And - something frightening, ever-present -
the Old Soul's controlling interest in the New Soul,
keeping it from becoming too presumptuous.
I am afraid, Scoundrel:
You may appear again,
reincarnated in a saint with a chipped aureole.
And the sons of the people You've killed
may greet you as a New Revelation,
because of the lack of nine degrees
in your present nimbus,
as an expression of empathy
for your impaired circumference.
