CREATION

Take me where Tomorrow shakes
its tears of remorse

to bathe away th'Guilt of this today

or, to where Autumn fosters its decay
of Summer's lazy drunken orange smears

Lead me to what treasures
are found at last where Heaven
avows our poor earthen Good

Or to some Woods'
well-guarded secret Mood
of quietude     

     --Although it be
by fiery madmen's follies & wars bound

or, if you will,
do plunge me down

all the loose steps of keeping on

until             

my arms    

      embrace

the fleeting frame
of this momentary World's

Aim or Purpose
in so many pointless harms

perhaps when to Such I go

I may yet come to know
what makes this so lost world

find itself so