Monday, September 27, 2004

"fair seed-time had my soul, and I grew up fostered alike by beauty and by fear"

Seed-time begotten and betrayed
Choices and fate, yet none its own
Fostered by fear, yet not afraid
Fostered by beauty and by scorn

A river waltzing for july
A humming bird, a butterfly
A rainbow thrown from sky to sky
A rose's scent, a rose's thorn

Seed-time of joy and golden rain
Moments to curse others to mourn
Much of it sensed yet e'er unborn

Seed-time deceit, seed-time in vain
When all your seed and all your grain
At sowing time is fully grown


Blogger euphorialapse said...

the ghost of a smuggled Beirut presents me with a before and after image of my land.Before me, After me.Before is beautiful.Before is fair seed.
I know the land used to be beautiful ...and then I came.A war baby not interesting enough to impart conviction, not interesting enough to accept the gift of pleasure.I embrace deathliness and yet I am not dead.The kingdom of God is within you , the nuns back at school used to say.And i feel heretic already because I have christened my memory as my fair seed.Remembering becomes tentative...less autobiographical,aloof.I become fascinated with my life , the fair and the foul.It becomes a hunger for the world, a wind from the future yet gone and lost...effaced by time.They say a photograph would do.I browse the photographs, photograph after pale photograph, a petal after petal,exposing my life effortlessly,as if there is no such things as regret.

12:00 PM  

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