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Nouvo Ishmael Gallus
Oh angel fair!
Oh glorious creature of the ethereal plain!
Hear my invocation and take the words to the empyrean!
For thou hast ensnared my heart in thine net you wove
With what you may call your hair.
Yet it cannot not be so, true beauty
No hair I know is made of gold!
Angels must envy you, dearest maiden
And they must also fall from heaven for committing that sin.
Yet what just and loving God could blame them?
For they hath fallen at His most perfect creation,
The grand apex of the feminine stature,
Whom God made of silk and voiced with bells.
She whom God carved from the purest stone with gilded knife?
Ah, who dare to touch thee?
Who dare to approach the Divine Masterwork?
What mortal man can be proven to be worthy
Of but one second of her scrutiny?
What Godly form is necessary?
To what seraphic Adonis must I metamorphose?
Must I don the guise of Apollo, he who shone with the light of Sol?
Or perhaps Hercules, the most stalwart of god-men?
Or must I go so far as to become Zeus himself?
Must I carry the Olympian King into battle against Jehovah
To win the bosom of the Most Masterful of Godís Works?
Alas, there is not enough ink in all the octopi of the sea
To complete this ode to Great Beauty, to Divine Technique
And Great Work by Great Gods
Nuevo Ishmeal Gallus (CG)