Lotus Heart Star of moon, in the mists of evening due, My spirit sitting in the Light of you, Painted and wondering alone Though blanket sky`S Your eyes are your stars Wondering along the ways of latitude Passing the Ring-Pass-Not Sucked into a vortices an atom from a tree Spread out on the past of changing immortality, Owlet night resumes his reign, Roses for a barren bed, Sweet sage for the maiden is dead, Sleep itself is tend to sorrow. For The winged wild swan youth soul encapsulates And spins a circle of swellings and masses Scattering them without tears. Poor captive bird The stone hearts of those that struck at you. To try and chip away your high winged heart! The divines presence trembles through killing the senses with passion, A metaphor of vision of incarnating anatomy Reflected in his blood red lips.