The King of Gaps

by Fernando Pessoa

There lived, I know not when, never perhaps-
  But the fact is he lives- an unknow king,
Whose kingdom was the strange Kingdom of Gaps.
  He was lord of what is twixt thing and thing,
Of interbeings, of that part of us
  That lies between our waking and our sleep,
    Between our silence and our speech, between
Us and the counciousness of us; and thus
  A strange mute kingdom did that weird king keep
    Sequestered from our thought of time and scene.
Those supreme purposes tat never reach
  The deed -between them and the deed undone-
He rules, uncrowned. He is the mystery which
    Is between eyes and sight, nor blind, nor seeing,
  Himself is never ended nor begun,
Above his own void presence empty shelf.
    All He is but a chasm of his own being,
The lidless box holding not-being's no-pelf.
All think that he is God, except himself.

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