Pity Song
Pity the dwindling people--all those delicate minds and bodies
fading to night.
And pity the stars, the pinpoint stars, those hungry constellations
crumbling to light.
The past sits in the sky. On the not-yet vanished phantoms
of worlds unknown
have pity, and on the phantoms of worlds just coming to being,
soon to be gone.
The art of melting--dissolving purely--is the art of wisdom--
how to come, and to go
through whatever shapes the eye of the world assigns you,
shifting to and fro
with a fine, solicitous joy, a compassionate sorrow
for each passing thing
you are, or were, and the shapes of all those creatures
you've never been.
But pity much more that untaught heart that crouches
in itself , like a stone,
hugging its own body--apart from all other bodies--
frightened, alone.
Copyright 2010-2012 Paul Petrie