My metered speech, exalted language –
O yes there is a scheme to poetry.
My mundane words enshroud the lotus tree
And sound of beauty high transcend the page
And music what we hear & vision see
And manifest the cosmos with to be.
But no there is no way to hide my face
Exclusively in unseen silent realms:
Try as I might my ideal concepts lace
Themselves in woman’s eyes & outward imagery
That ecchoes in your rural pen & see
My grace immortal in all art’s embrace.
I speak of everything & all exists,
For thru my sustenance the earth subsists.
My words are music & my thought is food.
I nourish all the cosmos with my pen,
And from it dust from dust will rise again.
All your reflections of my face are good.
My images are bread from which you live.
My outward nourishment permeates in.
The cycles that you breath & eat begin
When one intakes & I that apple give.
O must you woman mourn over your pangs
& you usurping king control our deaths?
No you will never take your feard last breaths,
For from a tree the fire stealer hangs.
My knowledge from the branch is what one eats
And art th’ imagination excretes.