Grasping at the burning dawn
Of a new ascendancy.
Yet one erected far beyond
The husk of eternity.
Unknowable black majesty
Revealed in glimpses three.
Of wisdom, might, and passion;
Of that ancient serpent's tree.
To bow before it's cryptic roots;
An elect to be delivered
As just another stream that flows
Into death's mystic river.
Unto Pleroma I do strive
In life and in its absence,
For the voice that howls in dreams and skies
Heralds the distant advent.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem