I'm So Tired; Yet I Sense A Change.

I'm tired of chasing after the wind. I'm bored of merely marking tender time; Trying to find ‘truth' amidst stony fragments. I want to glimpse aspects of the eternal. I'd like to capture life's ethereal glints; Transcribe strange sunbursts of consciousness. I need to feel the vital blood flow through me, And seek unconditional communion. Yet I shall not compromise colour & shade. I'd like to detail the seed's potential; Not be distracted by the flower's fragrance. I want to know the myriad ways of the moon; Convey its spectral, canarin mysteries. O could I disclose nature's verdant secrets, In a language soft & pure yet knowing? We poets, prophets should not seek asylum In some lustrous, imagined Eden, rather Decipher the writing on the wall: the signs Of the times: that blurt out bleak contingencies. We should stir the cold cinders of memory; And revive the soul's multi foliate rose; Confront the wind - blown struggles over meaning. And enable leaden lexicons to breathe. We should ignore the world's discordant music, And seek guidance in ancient plainsong or prayer. We should brace ourselves for spiritual battle Against the dark agents that proliferate. Haunting me always are grave, dreadful voices. They warn me to withdraw in desperation. Although the pure fountain has shattered; Although the new gods are but rusted idols; Although Love now dons Vanity's grotesque mask; Although we're still engulfed by evening's shadows; I sense fresh light breaking through the heart's cracks. Acedia's malignant spell is breaking. I sense the coming of a bejewelled dawn.