The Dark Psalms of Doctor John Faustus

Outwardly fools believe in Something.
Inwardly fools believe in Nothing.
Better a holy fool of faith
Than a sage, who flees in terror
From tyrants or fearfully broods in his own freedom,
His own non-belief. Come bird melodies,
Awake those at dawn with comforting answers.
Come daylight crunch, grind bare the hours.
Come heart keeners, usher in night’s coverlet,
Let solemnity ghost-off the human spirit.

My tongue will praise the enlightened ones,
Fulfill the rites of Mab, then see
Through a wolf’s cunning eyes,
And shape-shifting back to find
The garments of our rebel spirits
Spread out within the scrawled circle.
We wait for the warriors return
From their battlefield of lost causes,
Heaven’s frontier holding strong
Against the idolatry of creation.

I thirst, Lord, I thirst for knowledge
I knew even before Eve
Offered the serpent’s fruit
Over and over to another, to the son of man,
Who rides upon the dragon’s neck
Into the celestial battle between two truths.
Let earth, air, fire, and water
Forever bless the noise that moves
The planets in their musical spheres,
In their deep dance of woe and words.

Behold the blessed ones you have
Forsaken and scattered. We fear your wrath.
We collude in self-preservation.
Our strategy mirrors your grand design,
Our weapons purloined from heaven’s armory.
Both commands of righteousness
And disgrace you allow, you enable,
Your will a whirlwind of tribulation.
We endure, profligate and reproached,
Our follies, footholds below your feet.

Alert to your fury, winged messengers
Arrive daily reading declamations
Against our disproportions, our sins
Of sorcery, of rebellious pride.
Come chariots of light, convey us back
From impudent error. Give us refuge.
Give us the nod, the assembly we seek.
Yet we in dread are still pursued,
Hope devolves into clutches of anger
Or a bone-weakening plea of despair.

Just Past Montes de Oca, Northern Spain
The Air is Full