Saturday, June 29, 2013

Things Fall Apart

Things Fall Apart

("Turning and Turning the widening gyre,
The falcon cannot hear the falconer")

Things fall apart, the center does not stand,
Though this be my fault, yet not of my hand;
And O mother, damned thou art, the beastly sun tanned,
The greens, I see turning to mounds of sand.

Seldom does the cuckoo sing, on the branches green,
And seldom from the meandering river, flow sweet water clean;
It was not the picture I saw, the seen scene,
Minds of the new age, the mean human machine.

That slimy, smoky, greasy monster of tin,
With ferrous jaws, a shiny metallic skin;
Feasting on your dear's lives with a crafty grin,
Happy, happy, he was, for the loose and his win.

And alas! My fate, I see no blossoms bloom,
Mother, barren thou art, your empty womb;
Sadness lurking, with a misty gloom,
The day of death, it is, the day of doom.

I could have stopped him when he was child,
Should have stopped him, when he was a child;
Though as boy, he was meek and mild,
And how could I know, he'd turn so wild.

I saw not his willy hands nor his heart cold,
Yet all warned me, stop him, they told;
I didn't, thought he was growing just being bold.

And now I lament mother, for all humanity's pain,
To mankind, it will remain forever a stain.

Why not did I stop him, Why not?


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