“You Own the Year”
You own the year and years before you
As I the year and all that’s passed;
Your signs are rising; eternity is steadfast.
Quo vadis, then? I who serve eternities am overruled
By sheer numbers, countless previous dispensations viewed
In retrospect and circumspect as vast
And spacious notions of impermanence and impasse.
I see before the fact in part— imperfectly at present—pursued
By spoils of wars and rumours coupled with a dubious acquired taste
For bitters, acerbic memory gained close at hand or lost at sea.
Nothing in this world is or is so stable
That it is not utterly dependent, created, removed and recreated on the table
Of bounties throughout creation; what God has willed to use or waste
Shall be not be more or less than what it is, and what is not shall never be.*
* “Protect me, O my Lord, from every evil that Thine omniscience perceiveth, inasmuch as there is no power nor strength but in Thee, no triumph is forthcoming save from Thy presence, and it is Thine alone to command. Whatever God hath willed hath been, and that which He hath not willed shall not be.
There is no power nor strength except in God, the Most Exalted, the Most Mighty.”
–His HolinessThe Báb, Selections from the Writings of the Báb, pp. 190-191
Posted in Age, Aging, Certitude, Change, Civilisation, Covenant, Destiny, Detachment, Duplicity, End Times, Existence, Experience, Fate, God, Hegira, Hope, Image, Imagery, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mankind, Mortality, New Year, Poem, Poetry, Providence, Pyrrhic Victory, Reality, Samsara, Sea, Sonnet, Sonnets, Spirituality
Tagged Age, Aging, End Times, Eternity, Existence, God, Imagism, Immortality, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Poem, Relationships, Samsara, Sonnet, Sonnets
Beauty’s reticence has no alibi,
No longing year-end wish pursued
Through the New Year, no final cryptic interview;
Absence like the shadow has no definition. The lie
Is gently raked, inclined toward a simple quotient, a goal
Known only to fools or Prophets.
Urges toward the froward ascend for yet an hour’s solstice; epithets,
Then, and envy, raw ingratitude in Cain whose sole
Remorse is that he lacks and displeases God,
That he is no longer chosen and therefore set adrift. Apart
He reveres his own creation high above all others in his heart
And so, too, the truth, the one true God.
Stations, then, are forever sealed, the exile plods
Through warnings from the wind flower, hidden flaws within the seed;
When asked, “What ails thee, pilgrim?” Comes the answer, “Basic need.”
Posted in Imagery, Lyric Poetry, Poem, Poetry, Samsara, Sonnet
Tagged Affirmation, Cain, Certitude, Delusion, End Times, Existence, God, Illusion, Lyric Poetry, Mortality, Negation, Relationships, Tragic Flaw