The Many

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
The longings and feelings connect
Though it is a strange tesseract
Half fractured web on which
We still often feel a twitch;

By this we begin to recall
That nature shared by us all
Not mere category
A common reality;

Adam's broken bones lie
Beneath the same shifting sky
No longer can make them whole
From the body departed the soul;

A new blood can yet make him live
But it is not one we've to give
What remains from where we have fought?
In us all there still lingers thought;

A day-dream of cool afternoon
A memory of the coming-soon
A desire to be but remade
A longing for corruption to fade;

We all still do not understand
About blood, about flag and land
We still believe that less is more
As though to birth we abhor;

And in this desire to decrease
We wait for death's slow release
There will be ever more men
But we shall never be them;

Ecology is not for the scarce
A language we cannot yet parse
Of all the non-separate things
Not merely the bird that sings;

Man thinks to remove his own
Man thinks to leave Earth alone
But here is a word for the wise
Body with no head? It dies.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Messages left under the doormat will be promptly decoded and a response may be issued.