Logos (For Alina)

I am the Writer, the Creator,
Keeper-Of-Songs, Shaper-Of-Worlds,
A stroke, and I set the stars in motion
A raise of my hands, and I reap the tides.
My fingers spark, blue lightning at their tips,
And in them is the spin of a world's particles,
The ionic fires of birth and oblivion.

Imagine a door, a place, a moment,
And seeing it as it will be, as it will become,
Imagine seeing it, held in the Inner Eye,
And when you come to that door, that place
Step into it, into what you have seen and known
A synchrony like no other, an understanding.
This not power. It is the Godhead.

Create a world, and you will know,
That there is no All-Good, All-Just
Only a restless and questing Mind,
For the act of Creation is Division
A sundering of the Self, a re-birthing,
And in that cleaving, a holding-up to Light,
A seeing-of-ourselves, pain made beautiful.

It is a gutting-of-the-heart, this thing,
A self-destruction that brings ascension.
You come to understand the Samana,
The scourger, the ascetic-of-Walden,
For this act, this Creation, is a Sacrifice,
Shouting: "This is beauty, and it was mine once.
"It is yours now! Take it!"

When all else in the world is dead,
This torment, this salvation remains.
It is the eye of Another, a Girl
Who might show me of Herself
And take me with Her.
Her story is mine, a hidden life
Whose mysteries might reflect in my own.

I live and weep for this,
This communion,
This search for answers.
And yet for all my words,
I am afraid, afraid that all the words,
A million words might never be enough.
What is explained? And what done justice?