PREVIOUS NEXT FIRST The breezes rush...
Bellini's Lamentation Over The Body of Christ
The breezes rush
against my face
& push me backwards
on my race

down the boulevards
of my disregards & hush

--I am getting Nowhere!

When, "It's your own choice,"
says, profoundly, a Voice
(passing) from behind:

"Waft with the Wind!"

It whispers with th'crush
of almost human despair

"Turn around--Give your back
to th'breeze

& you will walk
with O so great an ease!"

(trying to enthrall
me from my stall-
ed Mortality

with its so cold, moving eternity
beyond my Soul)

from breath to breath

like self-control
in its integrity

of Human Progress
out for a stroll

--Ah, but although
I'd surely get There

were I to allow
the going air
to haul me, somehow
with its fell squall
of unending care

towards its Goal

on the whole, Th'Wind goes
always towards Infinity

and My Goal is close.