To grasp this suffering
Is a door into another world
Where there is fear of dragons
While rooted to the spot.
Painless embodiment
Inflicted on the soul,
A blind awareness
A harrowing
With no hope of seed.
Why did the father of Kant
Raise his fist on the mountain
And curse God?
Why has the golden strand
Turned to pumice,
The sweetest plum
To bitter sloe,
The freedom of the gift
To recompense?
No knowing.
9th Aug 2011
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