immortal children.. from my fruitless loins stumble forth.. hold your thyrsus high.. crumble the walls of the kings.. for all who have agreed to the battle field are of equal blame.. you have set forth on unagreeable terms.. the educated masses clinch and revolt.. always holding peace close to our minds..
..All the mystics.. scattered about.. strewn if you will.. slowly being convinced of failure.. of defeat even before the battle field has been presented.. of torn flesh and broken limbs even before the first gun has been fired.. I shout loud and clear.. "calm yourself"
..nothing..
..no resonance..
..no harmony..
..no ear to confirm the truth from behind my mind and tongue..
..they rush on to something that has been done many times before.. and the poet sits in a familiar pose.. growing fatigued of this unending form..
