21 O' Dragon-heart of Energy, Who dwelleth in the Form of Void, Thy coils encircle each Event: In Thee all Forces are alloy'd. Thy breath doth bear Life's Flame to Thought, ‘Til all back to Thy mouth is brought. None, but Thee and the Dragon-soul'd, Create and yet Fate's Law avoid.
22 The Talion Decree is Set: Upon Thy Brow – the Dead King's Crown. Thy talons rend the Scrolls of Law – For Thou hast brought the Most High down. God-Destroyer! God-Begetter! Thy Maelstrom Soul – My Cynosure! Hail, O' Beast of Fear and Far Renown!
23 O' Thou Metacosm of Between, Who art Above – Beyond – Below, Thine Attributes we name and make- For Aught Imagined is That we know. By This we forge the Aeons' Chain, Fate's Edge to break, yet pre-ordain: God's Clay upon Man's Wheel to throw.
24 With Seven Handfuls of the Earth Brought unto Me by Azra-il, I shall grant Man a Greater Form And with my Breath the Image fill. Its Thought shall hold a World Urbane, Its Flesh exceed the Mortal Grain, And with its Word – the Sculptor kill!
25 The Potter's Wheel is yet the Mill, Where All is ground unto the Mote: The Age within the Moment sought, The Sea that in each Tear doth float. Each Atom cut, each Instant crack'd, All Words unto the Thought traced back – To bear the Song in the Single Note.
26 Where doth hang the Dragon's Crown? Where doth his jewell'd snakeskin drape, And drip the bloodied seed of pain – The Ruby Wine of Khidir's Grape? Above the Shadowy Form call'd "Man,” Whose Hand doth touch this Very Page, Where-on are Charms to make him God . . . . . . or yet to mask the Ape!
27 And where the Face of Ur'an-na? Storm-veil'd as in a wolfish pelt. His bowls are Heaven's Battle-rage, Before his Throne hath Nature knelt. But see the Hand upon the Page – Shall trace a Word beyond its Age, And draw the Sword from Great Orion's Belt.
28 The Whorls upon each fingertip Show where the Whirlwind's Dance hath passed - Each Line doth show each turn of Fate - To mark the Way from First to Last. The Stolen Gift of Dragon's Fire Hath scorch'd a Path which Few desire, Beyond the Future in the Past.
29 The Tree grown out the Mouth of Hell, From Seeds dropp'd from the Sinner's Plate, Hath spann'd the Arch of Heaven's Roof And caus'd the World's Edge to abate. From each bough hang sweet-nectar'd fruit, Yet venoms feed the deepest root. Here, the Path without a Path . . . . . . Beyond the Gateless Gate.
30 Who with each Sin shall rise above The Crowded Carnal Bed of Earth, Yet take his fill from Pleasure's Breast And sate himself amidst her mirth, Shall make each vice a Ladder's rung, Where-with to climb the Death-strewn Mire And from each Corpse reclaim his Birth.
31 O' What shall I dare to name Thee? Thou who art Son of the Sun! Whose Steps exceed the Tongue's own edge, Whose Soul hath ratio to None. Thy Star doth cast the Gods' own light, Peerless art Thou! Man-over-Man! Who shall not from Thy mere Shadow run?
32 Shall I call Thee "Azhdeba" – The Fire-drake of Antient Fame? Or yet call Thee "Old Khidir"? Or doth the Angel hide Thy Name? Yea, Thou art These and ever more, Thou art the Soul within the Core Of I – who am the Very Same!
