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Contractor in hell
I made a jade city for the heart
to have a heart in
I hope to be possessed by evil
but very civilly
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Insider
doors, forgive me
for having a house
who likes to need
such a common evil
for quiet or content in the rain
a rain that tends to sing well
and eat nothing at all
Versatile
the wren can nest
like a head full of evil
now saying nothing
to save his place
Jonathan Swift Somers (Author of the Spooniad)
After you have enriched your soul
To the highest point,
With books, thought, suffering,
The understanding of many personalities,
The power to interpret glances, silences,
The pauses in momentous transformations,
The genius of divination and prophecy;
So that you feel able at times to hold the world
In the hollow of your hand;
Then, if, by the crowding of so many powers
Into the compass of your soul,
Your soul takes fire,
And in the conflagration of your soul
The evil of the world is lighted up and made clear—
Be thankful if in that hour of supreme vision
Life does not fiddle.
The Gift of Hate
Empty it seems, at times, their cry about Love,
Their claim that love is the only thing that survives.
For I who am born of my centuries strewn with hate,
Who was spewed into life from a timeless tangle of sin,
I can hate as strong and as long as I love!
There are hours and issues I hate;
There are creeds and deeds and doubts I hate;
There are men I hate to the uttermost;
And although in their graves they listen and weep,
Earth's mothers and wistful women who cried for peace,
I hate this King of Evil who has crowned my heart with Hate!