Bad poetry compels me
to contemplate seppuku,
to pluck out my corneas,
to drink myself blind,
to gaze into Medusa’s eyes.
But, William Blake
still transports me
on dragon's wings
to worlds sublime;
Then I see
what I've never seen,
always known,
but never said;
I contemplate the age old mystery,
the unvarnished human form divine
devil child as well as angel
saint and sinner
love and hate.
William Jackson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-dragon-s-wings/
