Unknown Modes Of Being
by Sam M. Phillips
A formidable demon,
Only hinted at before,
Reaching out to from somewhere,
Somewhere deep in my nature,
It is the Devil’s own force
Of this I am vividly aware,
And it is telling me:
The secret of life
Consists in sharing
The madness of God.
I rouse a particular exultation in myself,
A swirling, cosmic eroticism,
Whenever I confront the inanimate,
For, here too, lies life, and love, and God,
Not just in flesh and bones,
But in dirt, stones, the wind and sky.
I achieve direct contact,
Pass beyond my own personality
And enter into all things,
Carried along and powered
By the psychic ether.
Unknown modes of being,
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A dim and undetermined sense,
A call to darkness,
To void and oblivion,
In the abyss are no familiar shapes,
Only a bleak desolation,
A sparkling blackness,
Here, resides my soul,
Now found,
But indefinable.
Huge and mighty forms
Move slowly through my mind,
Trouble my dreams,
They collect my doubts in bundles
And wait for me to wake.
I look and wait,
Wonder late into the evening,
An instant sense of disbelief,
Not taken seriously
Until the evidence gathers,
Coincidences beyond all denial.
Catch a train,
Watch through stained windows,
Regard the provinces of the Devil,
His absurd landscapes
Play on my mind
Like demented fairytales,
They tell a story,
It is woe.
Atmosphere of insanity,
A diabolic pact,
God’s partition,
Closing the world off
From the next with a word,
I am afraid,
An enormous influence
Looms over me,
Outweighing all imagined faults.
A poor spirited creature,
An exchange,
Accept the persecution,
The universal scapegoat,
He is just misunderstood.
Thousands of years pass,
A giant eyelid blinks,
Confession of sin
Not required,
Roles reversed with a rival,
Shall we play again?
