mcahogarth
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Poem: Wool-gathered Child
🕑 Added 2023-11-28 12:00:07 +0000 UTCWool-gathered child, who walks
as if through cloud-cloaked air,
and dances thoughtlessly
in dreams that shroud the light:
you forget your flesh,
and then in slow naivete
you wonder how
the world around you runs.
The rules of Earth are mysteries
to you, unknowable, a matter of faith
and not subject to experiment.
Oh, I know your secret,
air-born aesthete, blind outside
your pale cocoon: so
deep do you spin your dreams
they occlude your sight, and layered
'round you deepening they
snow you in until they block out
the sunlit real and you --
you do not know how to see.
I look at you and in your eyes
I see a fragile fantasy.
How strange that you look at me
and the world we live in
and think the same.
But if you woke tomorrow and
could strip the cloudy veils
from your sight,
would you still be you? Or
would you fly apart and return
to the stuff of nonsense
that alone made order of an Earthly, fleshy life?
Wool-gathered child,
spirit built of clouds:
too much wool-gathering
made you, but also set you at
a star-shelled remove.
You are of this world,
but you do not move through it.
When you at last return to the matter
from which you sprung,
only God will know how much of you
was ever really here.
