On a Grey Thread/Grain and Grapes
Grain and Grapes
This word came to meFrom one whose wisdom shapesThe destiny of many:Let your thought be fruitful:Men like grain and grapes.
I'll not be loved of men for my giftsIf men want grain and grapes alone:My thoughts are gnarled, fantastic trees,Grown up untended, barely pruned,From ancient seed I have not sown.
Their snake-mouthed roots are in my heart.I feel them hungrily intenseDrawing the seething love-sap out.Prodigally I feed them allMy being's vivid afluence.
But thus far they have only borneVeined blue buds that bloom to beScarred flowers of inhuman pain,And little opening leaves, like eyesFull of a grave futility.
Strange flowers foretell strange fruitAnd gods stay breathless while they grow.Men call and look for grain and grapes,Their homely, humble earth-warm fruits;But heaven is silent. The gods may know.