“We Gather and Disperse the Seed”
We gather and disperse the seed, we minor gods in ceaseless search.
No ends exist in harvests of self-satisfaction with their certainty of blight.
And which of us discerns the which through veils of light
And endless superstition , revision—aspirations ceded on a mountain perch—
Or the imminent descent to sound the maw of landlocked ëgotism in oceans?
No one here survives mortality but all will live to tell the tale
Of peoples, nations; lofty wholesale tales that fail
Within the present feed then in upon themselves from wellsprings of notion
Filled with promise and devotion to prove their axioms secure.
Nor time, nor reticent imagination can define
The earthly limitation of the heavens here below a line
That pays out gilded veins of pride from anxious weavers in this world.
How often is it so that few if any see beyond a moment’s pause
The awful symmetry between ephemeral success and eternal loss?