Psychognosis.net 


Section Index

Preface Prognosis Consummatum Est Fields of Consciousness Entelos Epinike A Word in Passing The Spark of Nous Walk a while with me The Road to Wisdom The Barren Tree The Cosmic Sigh The Motherload The Journey Home The Arkons of Transition The Love of Hell Annihilation Circuminsession The Void Resurrection The Watcher at the gates of Dawn Beyond the White Duality The Cosmic View Gnosis Revelation The Dark Side The Eternal Bleep Quo Vadis The Pain Ode to Metamorphosis The Odyssey Walking on the Waves Cosmic Blackmail Elitism The Virus Physics and Psy The Fire of Life The Irony Full Circle Paradise on Earth The Reciprocal Convergence The Tiger Moth Drink Deep Dichotomy The Wind does not Blow Serendipity False Idols The Grail Re-Legio The Passion Science Thus Quenched Emanation The Path Teachers Philosophers The Water and the Jug The Judgement of Memory Divine Freedom The Cog's of Form The Accusation Frustration Dream On Happiness Reason and Emotion Affectation Meaning Contemplation The Cosmic Dance Judgement Gnosis of Direction For Nothing The Eternal Mystery The Humour of Dialogue The Cosmos of Creation The Secret of Life Good and Evil Fulfilment The Inheritance The Child and the Man Truth Unconditional Love A Birthday Thought Incarnate Evolution Always Now Affirmation In Conclusion The Deepest Wealth The Knowledge A Breath of Vision The Last virtue In Waiting In Passing Silent Night Ab Aeterno Ad Hoc The Hero For What Reason The Last Amen In Leaving Time and Again The World is full of Beauty

THE DARK SIDE




Dedication to Omar Khayyam





Would that I could sleep tonight
and n'er awake again;
and shackled to my soul, could take
the harbinger of pain;
that catalytic virus now
which burrows like a screw,
entwines itself like poison
on what was pure as dew.

For if I did not love you,
then I would never care,
and never would I worry,
or your pain then have to share;
but it is done... I love you;
and the dark side I must know
until the temporal course is through;
when all the pain will go.

Why is it thus, that love must have
its dark side like the Moon,
or rust beneath a painted sheen
which shows itself so soon ?

Ah love! Could we conspire
to grasp this sorry scheme,
and mould it in a fashion more
conducive to our dream !




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