The Pleroma seethes, a pre-essential vat,
Where Aeons coil in thaumaturgic sleep;
Till Sophia, scorched by hypostatic fat,
Leaps through the void-abyss, profane and deep.
She births a blind-god, architect of clay,
A Demiurge of visceral mistake,
Who weaves the flesh-shroud, stifling the day,
In labyrinthine coils of serpent-ache.
We, the pneumatic sparks in somatic jail,
Are manacled by sensory deceit,
Through archon-guarded spheres we shriek and fail,
To find the Unbegotten’s cool retreat.
Gnosis is the shiver, sharp and thin,
That strips the macrocosmic rot within.
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