End And Means
Poem
Published on January 8, 2021
End And Means
Poem
How many improbabilities are thine O Spirit,
Conjuring a living cell from deaf mute stone?
Or propping breathing form upon sturdy bone,
Making shattering conceptions thy daily habit.
What need is thine from our labouring mind,
A stiff march to the drumbeat of reason
Or to revel to the music of our imagination
Or dwell in musing silence to thee find?
By what fuel of feeling shall we feed
Thee of strange mystic unknown appetites?
Our bread is but coarse in time’s dungeons
And the warm blood our only daily mead.
What needest thou from our web of nerves
Channeling the pulsations of life current?
What new power dost thou make apparent
In thy steady kneadings like a winepress?
What new interest seizes thine eye
In our old sturdy scaffold of bone?
By what impellations of that Secret Sun
Dost thou now violate its sleeping sanctity?
Whatever be thine end and means O Spirit Sun,
Calibrate thy rays to us yet only human.