Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Second Coming by W.B. Yeats

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 sorevelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming!
Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the 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?

— WB Yeats's "Second Coming"as first printed in 1920



Blogger Eric Stewart said...

I just read this recently for the first time and I was struck with how much it reminded me of a piece I wrote some twenty years ago, though not at the same literary level:

Over the fields of the Nephilim,
the demon lords will ride,
leaving in their crimson wake,
seeds of revelation - turning the tide.

For in the deeps of the demon seed
oft truth will lie
and from the deceptive nature of truth,
the saints and angels shy.

An ashen lady gives up her vows;
preachermen turn cloak.
Sweet innocence is disemboweled -
on the prophet's blood the self-righteous choke.

An harmonious world is hacked and slashed.
The fire of hate once more is lit.
What was once green and bright,
now wallows in God's own shit.


Of course, I was disillusioned, a natural state for a healthy human just discovering that the world he was taught existed actually was a farce.

1:29 PM  

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