Fluid the medium by which we desire,
Heavy the limits to which we aspire
To lift ourselves free, on the wings of a dove,
To practise perfection by drinking his blood.
The illusion of earth is splintering fast
As we grab at the air, as we fall at the last:
Witchery, Witan, Wicca and Wizard
Pursuing the furies is why we are feared.
Opening up space and stretching out time
In a flurry of words at thirty a dime.
Walk through the air, glance down at the heights,
Sublimity scares us, like the darkness of light:
In this cauldron of water, fire, earth and air
See! The silent assassin’s infected snare.