Tuesday, July 7, 2020
The Second Going
Buffering and refreshing in the widening gyre
The vote cannot hear the voice;
Things fall apart; the center is naught to behold;
Monetized anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
Innocence is drowned in the ceremony;
The best convictions lack all passion, while the worst
Are full of intensity.
Surely some adumbration is at hand;
Surely the Second Going is at hand.
The Second Going! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Simulatum Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a human,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is slowly moving its thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the ignorant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty-one centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed by a nightmare hand rocking the cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem.com to be born?