It is a weird benumbing time And only part of me is here, I know not if I sink or climb Or if my soul shall disappear
In some enormous void of space My shell to wander aimlessly Or disappear without a trace Into the bowels of history.
And yet there is no either-or, The grey penumbra haunting me Is but the shadow of a door Opening on divinity.
We must persist through desert days And arctic nights when ideas freeze And we walk unseeing through the maze Of a karmic pasts' firm decrees
And nought remains but failing will When the embers of old desires glow And ghosts of selves we cannot kill Assail us in this circus show
Of life and death and grief and pain. We must shed the yoke of time and fate And know the Spirit without stain Will cause these torrents to abate
And by the Grace our lives transcend Their narrow limits to rise above Signalling the darkness' end, Each riven soul embraced by love.
Poems Undated (1727)
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