Riveted to the ticking of the clock Relentless the attack of piercing pain, The numbing cancer drugs reduce the shock But ebb and flow of agony remain.
Minutes pass, millennia of Will, As all life's flame-events go flashing by, The shattered tortured shell tenacious still, Its mantra to the Lord a poignant cry
For bliss in an uncomprehending world That moves a puppet or automaton Whose dark desires on the Spirit hurled For sated joys of dull oblivion.
The days drift by a disconnected strand And hours move more slowly than the years, The sweeping motion of the second-hand Agony's arc grinding the body's gears.
As an erratic pendulum is swayed By hands unseen toying with our lives All seems a Wheel and all our progress stayed, A dream in which the Self alone survives.
Yet through the deadening haze the brightened Soul Ever of immortality aware Moving towards the psychic being's goal Begins again a vessel to prepare
That God be born in Man and earth renewed To beauty and the consciousness divine, In Force-filled forms with truth-light's joy imbued, Sculpted to the Artist's vast design.
Poems Undated (1727)
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