You, you only, exist.
We pass away, till at last,
our passing is so immense
that you arise: beautiful moment,
in all your suddenness,
arising in love, or enchanted
in the contraction of work.
To you I belong, however time may
wear me away. From you to you
I go commanded. In between
the garland is hanging in chance; but if you
take it up and up and up: look:
all becomes festival!
Sunday, June 10, 2007
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1 comments:
That was so beautiful, and so true. In fact, I believe that I experienced just such a moment reading this poem. Thank you
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