From the Edges of the Earth

In my youth/ My eyes beheld/ Realities to the millions...

No sooner Done the deed
They always proceed To feed

Why not / As a withered bloom / As a beast of field / Whose time has come / Meek and tranquil / Do I bow my head / And cease?

Once there was/ A mighty king/
And in all lands of his kingdom/ No man lifted/
Hand nor foot/ Without his say

Over this one thing
I implore You:
That my cup of gratitude
With a tear is laced

The droplet yearns for the source. The spark craves the great fire. Shall we plunge into the sea of Nothingness?

I no longer see
A table, a chair, a lamp . . .
Only letters do I see

From the beauty of the creature/ From the longings of the flesh/ Sparks of Your fire/ Strewn there/ By the pound/ Of Your creation-hammer/ Called to him...

Solitary and without friend/ Is he/ Therefore/ Every man/ Is his brother

This one night/ Allow my fantasy/ That death/ I will not see

They stand behind our chair
Holding on to the fork in our hand...

"Tell us a story, Grandpa!" begged the children. "Tell us a story about a prince..."