Sacred Cenote - Flowers of Evil

Praise and glory to Thee, Satan, on high,
Where Thou didst reign, in Hell where Thou dost lie,
Vanquished, silent, dreaming eternally.
Grant that my soul some day rest close to Thee
Under the Tree of Knowledge which shall spread
Its branches like a Temple overhead.

O wise among all Angels ordinate
God foiled of glory, God betrayed by fate
O Prince of Exile doomed to heinous wrong
Who, vanquished, riseth ever stark and strong
Thou knowest all, proud King of occult things
Familiar healer of man's sufferings
Thy love wakes thirst for Heaven in one and all:
Leper, pimp, outcast, fool and criminal

Of Death, Thy brave leal wanton, Thou didst breed
Sweet madcap Hope to charm our idle need

Thy gift, that bland imperious glance that hallows
The damned, and damns the blest about the gallows
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!

In coigns of miser earth veined with dead bones
Thou knowest what jealous God hid precious stones
Thy fierce eyes pierce deep arsenals in which
The tribe of metals sleep, entombed and rich
Thy broad palm cloaks the precipice's edge
For sleepwalkers, poised on a building's ledge
Thy magic softens bones of drunkards struck
By hooves of horses on a speeding truck

To cheer him, Thou didst teach frail man, Thy friend
How aptly sulphur and saltpeter blend
Thou, skilled accomplice, Who dost stamp Thy mark
Upon the brow of Croesus, harsh and stark
Thou Who didst lend the eyes and hearts of whores
Their love of tatters and their cult of sores
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!

Thou, sage's lamp and exile's staff, serene
Guide to those kneeling by the guillotine
Father to those whom God the Father's vice
Of vengeance drove from earthly paradise
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!