(11/07/1941) Adeptus

Brooding eyes, apish browed,
What wierd surmise lurks there endowed
With formless substance!
A gray blurred sphere
Ringed and glowing
Jagged rents
Flashing, twisting
Dissolved and warpted
Tight coils of hate
Clashing, chaotic.

Smooth sweeping girders
Looping curves
Strange arcs that lead
A somewhere vague
Stark time is gone
And in its place
A central fire
A bridge of suns
All motives and
All loves are one
To Him whose Will
Because is done.

Grady L. McMurtry

Originally published in Thelema Lodge Calendar, September 1988