And I do deplore my dark-side conscienced consciousness

Brings metals to me, to the fore; as it seems, all the more

 

Seeps deep into my soul, a hole, abyss, and shrunken without colour,

Drenched in the bloods helpers have shed, wearing out sullen dolours

 

Too too aware; a sonar picks out bounds unsounded

Here in my middle gut where centred bedded-in, endeavours

To start off, and by me, attempt and test half-casually

Never a counter of them though, though much-professed

And all of us win such heinous dungeons; straits possessed

Let certain contradict me; make their honest blanks protest

 

I see the dark side too far, too, too often I lay bare

Work-outs in bloodsheds taken breezily on an easy chair

Stirring our own blood-lettings which do others shout and pour

Power-led, powder-proofed, suffice a finest hour

 

What is it made so large a hole inside mulish fool Man

For him to sink in as he likes aslaughtering much-ado

And slaughterer of his peace who catechises his own self

Lusciously, as a next best thing to his excess sops of wealth

 

Geoffrey of Monmouth chops heads off, his game of thrones,

Carves fighters into two parts, as cartoon Disney scenes,

His Homeric gore hangs around of yore, retained to pleasure

Golloping men; slop-pails of glorious no half measure

 

Swillings of oozings, murdering scenes we’d greet to see

Done in our minds’-eyes, perhaps a touch voluptuously

Distant from local conseqence, from fiery field battery

Wishing to inflict, make pay, with surreal culpability

 

A bent that I, myself, I do deplore, resist, rebut

Here in my heart I know it’s me yet: I would readily cut…..

………..but that that heart’s worked dear ointments; smooths and recovers

Sometimes, some blessed days encounters offences overcovered,

 

By a string-thin hopeful song hung loosely on my adverse ear

An old crazy tune, one somewhat cobweb-flocked, and hoary sear

I like it all the better for its ancient freshest age;

Dispensary and appliance; wise, the wisest yet essayed

 

Oh take it: station, transit, source, of all good reason’s rest

Only the only salve; and printed gainful palimpsest

Written beneath the skin upon the heart; though we protest…..

………...O come you Holy Master, enter in, you Holy Guest!