A tongue strikes an inner shell.
The ring cries, a double swell.
The pressures of circles ply,
To infinity they fly.
Vibrations we think as frail,
Forever and ever sail.
Nirvana within the core,
Touches and tastes every shore.
Tortures of a sensuous gale,
Lays the pride besides the trail.
Doubt makes for stormy waters.
Apocalypse, has no quarters.
Garrotted by thoughts of dread,
Promise of the chalice bled.
Holy vows and the oaths swore,
Toast of hemlocks, evermore.
She, the tongue that struck the bell,
And I, the wrung and tolling shell.