What shall I do
in this time?
Cry out "Alas" -
That which was
Inevitable
has come
to pass
today
And why should I
Feel this ache
There is nothing
to be gained
No solution
to be learned
No ready end
to be made.
There is only
wind whistling
Across ice-clad
winter lakes
Where grey doves take
wing softly
Rustling the
still dawn air
And the hallowed hum of cars
Whisk briskly past along
black pathways
Carved out of the
Mother's Flesh
Mind-steel-earth-flesh
embracing.
And all is one
in noon's chill
As it always
has to be
seperated
but by mind
and will
and life
and "me"