The Second Coming

TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

--W.B. Yeats

Thoughts of Stumbling Mind

betrayed by all
i linger
somewhere between
a twisted fantasy
has come to be
the illusion of my dreams
the sleep never comes
the voices accuse
and reproach unknown crimes
night
and day
every moment of silence
distorted
in a broken frame
the eyes stare
and glare
at my shady form
i can feel the stance
ignoring these thoughts
in a blank divan
im free
or
so
im lead
to believe.

--A.A