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O Quintessence!
That which makes us, shapes us,
Through the dirty day
From dust to dust –
Did they know, when they unleashed you, what they wrought?
Stellar eternity condensed in cataclysmic instant,
Iota wreaking death, and smaller blasphemy –
Brief man stealing star-power against the night.
Did he know, when he died the little death, what he was doing?
Not you, for true, but great symbolic father in the garden;
Death brings death, seed seed, life life – the third will last
Then may we live in harmony with you, O fundament.
May we find a link that harms not you nor us.
The wild fruit we may not see again,
And End awaits he who tastes the tamed –
Somewhere in between, then, and let it, like a pomegranate,
Sweet us, bind us to it, that me dwell our time
No less, no more.
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