The Spirit Poem by Cody Simpson

The Spirit

O, wonderful spirit!
Have you come to inspire me?
Or have you come for my soul?
I bow in thine presence,
But wonder of it also;
So, again, I ask thee,
“Why hast thou come here? ”

Art thou Lucifer of the saints’ old stories?
Art thou God’s angel?
Even so may I ask,
Art thou my Lord himself?
All of this I ask,
And receieveth not as yet the answer.

What is there that maketh thee given an answer,
My spirit of vexation?
I am but a man.
My patience waiteth not like thine,
For I am God’s folly.
The grave is my destiny;
Therefore thy answer must make haste.

My soul burns like a thousand flames,
As I wait for thine answer.
I mustn’t tarry in limbo forever,
But I will not yet away.
My time with thee is like gold of the highest degree:
Precious, yet still not perfect.
And so, as the sun sinks low in the sky,
You begetteth not yet any answer.

O, spirit! I see thy honor,
But giveth me now the answer!
Thy voice is lost upon me,
As is thy wisdom.
Remove thy seal and let legions fly,
As they have in times past.
I say unto thee, great spirit,
That a sword removeth itself not from stone;
Someone plucketh it from stagnance.
Therefore make an effort to utter
Thy great rumble.

Hast thou no words for me?
O, so ’tis it always with you!
Where thine voice is,
Never will I know.
Does it lay in heaven?
Does it rest with Solomon?
Does the Devil’s fourth head
Chew on it by Judas?
Ah, never shall I know.

I swear before thee, spirit,
That thou art a god of silence!
Verily, I swear also,
That my fabric wears thin from thee.
Never home will I see again,
Yet the walls of my tomb only,
If I abide with thee.

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