50
Transitional Poem
Or playing darts with drunken schoolmasters) The integrity that's laid bareUpon the edge of common furniture. Now to the town returningI accept the blind collisions that ensure Soul's ektogenesis.
25
Where is the true, the central stoneThat clay and vapour zone,That earthquakes budge nor vinegar bites away,That rivets man against Doomsday?
You will not find it there, althoughYou sink a shaft belowDespair and see the roots of death close-curledAbout the kernel of your world.
Where is the invaluable starWhose beams enlacèd areThe scaffolding of truth, whose stages drawnAside unshutter an ideal dawn?
It is well hid. You would not findIt there, though far you minedUp through the golden seams that cram the nightAnd walked those galleries of light.
