This world is not made for us,
For unmade things, have they a purpose?
You were never made, but born again
A mud drop in a boring rain
Cascading down a dusty staircase
Desperate to keep up the pace,
Lest water learn to leak up stairs.
As we descend, we lose the stars
Behind the clouds we came here by,
The favorite company of the eye,
Each step we fall, reduced by one:
For in this kingdom of the sun,
We shall not know another God.
This ocean swirls in our blood,
Sometimes as you, sometimes as me,
Sometimes as secret things that see,
But ever do its rivers rush
The embers from the underbrush
And whoosh the fire from the woods.
These cycles come in fits and moods,
Imagined but for a twisted root
That, as you fall, tears up your foot
Then spins away with your skin to drown.
All life inside you spirals down
Deeper & drowsier your hole of pain
To follow the water through the drain
And be taken up again, majestic storm,
Into the unseeable grandeur of your form.
Desire to be Ugly.
Aspire to be Poor.
Desire to be Unloved,
To be made Lovely,