Canticle of the Tower
XXX
Go, say to the Watchers of heaven, who have sent you to pray for them,
You ought to pray for men, and not men for you.
Vision perhaps, or a spectacle mightily manifest drew near
Poured from the artifact held by the kingly pretender, confounded,
Harkening suddenly monsterly winds we acknowledged with due fear
Seeing the heavenly bodies removed as calamities sounded,
Rushing of waters around us: the balcony’s open exposure
Gave us a sight of a great flood which thus rapidly ascended
Meeting the stone’s lip, flush; and we both with a fallen composure
Trembled in humbled amazement as something from waters extended
Swarmed by a legion of angels in hurried, invigorate flights quick
Seamless a tower, a white-gold structure built by their hands pure
Whilst each angel is dredging up many a white brick,
Placing the bricks in arrangement perfected, ensuring it stands sure
Beaten by winds and assaulted by waves as it glowed from afar, dim:
Wondrous a sight, but the distance confirmed us its size was enormous
When one angel turned to us, wishing us both to regard him,
Whence he approached in an instant, surrounded by beckoning, chorus
Shouting, The Name deserves song, praise and exalt Him forever,
Rider and horse He has hurled to the sea: and observe Thou delivers
Manifest judgments, and holy art Thou, God Nameless Together,
Terrible King and our Dread Lord, draw from Thy quiver;
Shadowy figure became clear, frightful and terrible power
Flowering faces of creatures and covered in eyes iridescent
Speaking without lips moving: Lo, for is not yet his hour,
Then he advanced as each of its pupils becoming a crescent
Nothing unlike night predators eying a paralyzed target
Whilst for its movements it flashed, as an image behind vegetation
Stuttered if one was to move alongside; and it burnished to scarlet,
Fluttering wisp of a faraway heat in divine radiation
Joined by a choir of angels in symphony dreadful and dire,
Uttering praises to God as the Fear of our ancestors long passed
Flashing as lightning between tall trees, and a handsomest fire
Then coalesced in their midst, each angel to echo its broadcast,
Holy, o holy, o holy is YH God, Warr’or Almighty
Friend of the widow and Help of the orphan and Rock of salvation,
Origin of everyone living who follows His precepts uprightly,
Hatred and end of the dead who abide in their drunk fornication,
Whistling loud to the tune of a psalm of a dread visitation
Sung underneath pealed thunderh’ds high in an ominous chorus
Hung in perfidi’sly thin air, strung by the winged convocation
Flying in harmonized welter; as goyim have said in their corpus:
First was the Chaos, and then earth brought to the light with a broad-chest
Firm in foundation, to last for whatever exists for us mortals;
Little disputed their evil poetics observing the contest
Vied by primordial elements opening heavenly portals
Pouring an army of angels all over Masada, to crashing,
Thundering paces, askew but in order with incenses pleasing
Layering smokes in the darkening portal we watched as the thrashing,
Fast-disappearance of sun-light choked to their prayers unceasing
Making the day, night: there at the portal, the angels all near it,
Suddenly flashed to us ogling, skeletal hasmalim giants
Amber and sizzling electric cerulean borne by its spirit
Carrying mighty a fire amid pray’rs laden with violence
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