Order and Disorder

A passion came to me in the form of order,

To order all things in the mind.

Seek then frenzy, the foliating blood, then,

Seek the schisms of the stars, the will.

And did the passion come from order's self?

I heard in the wind the falling of a leaf.

And as the night's weak eye bore down on mine,

Was L its killer, was I its thief?

Strange things go on in the subtle night,

In the darkness the ages murmur and tremble.

Plato conceives, and Aristotle measures,

Buddha thinks deep, and Christ is burning white.

Each is an order, but each is a blight.

I feel my blood abounding, massive in darkness,

Each was an order, but each its order closing

In total harmony, save only Christ.

And the passion was a wild air of night,

It was a violation of the mind in its order,

A tumult, a transgression, ingression,

Christ's blood the strain in truth's disorder.