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Each season has its own turning
and its yearnings
and its wantings
and its findings.
Man finds comfort in
things unknown
and he adopts
and he seeks
and he finds.
Each season has its own springtime
and its mean time
and its off times
and its ides finds.
Man finds comfort in
things unreal!
and he adopts
and he seeks
and he finds.
Nature is all amnd has
nothing to find.
Man is a creature of a
different kind.
Seeking is man's, until
there will be nothing to find.
Each season brings
comfort toward the earth
And a symbol in birth
and a meaning to mirth
and a finding jeweled
with the earth.
As If Infinity
As if infinity were a conceivable existence,
one may consider it thus; Beyond the forest, before the sea.
Binding both phrases we have our entire past,
uncertain and merciless future. And of our
present, the position stressed within. Here lies man's eternity.
All times past is now departed as now begins the
first of the rest and the last is to vanish.
Standing at the end, also its birth.
Where or how does eternity exist, an infinity
within such a state? Or is it the eternity of
the ephemeral, the everlastingness of pain,
love, fear and hope?
Standing there upon the earth?
They, the weary, too often change their outlooks.
Time is not all infinity, eternity, position and
space, but also the instruments of life. Lonely railroad tie
by tie.
Lonely roamer on and on.
As different persons have different characteristics
so does time personalize one eternity with a
brand instrument and its own functio.
Whither awhile just to rest.
Wasting awhile at the best.
Beyond the forest, before the sea.
Here lies man's eternity.
Standing at the end, also its birth.
Standing there upon the earth?
Lonely railroad tie by tie.
Lonely roamer on and on.
Whither awhile just to rest.
Wasting awhile at the best.
Behind the shackles of recorded time,
wherein mankind must sign,
legends of lost souls gone in such haste
to a cursed land of their waste.
Bowling, my brothers, pin by pin.
Finding your scorers sin and sin.
Whither, my brothers, will we go
When eternity is moments and infinity is not
so slow?
Reading this 27 years later, I'm surprised my
editor allowed this to be published as it was. Forgive me for my
youth. And that I post it here as it was published - the poem itself
isn't so bad. |
