THE FOUNTAIN

                                                                            

every writer seeks a new thought.

every sailor a  new spot.

                in every lover lingers a secret desire 

                 a hell of love, of leering fire

every soldier seeking a new life

damned with  memories of pain-stricken strife.

                                       savouring in the resins of life's oozes

                                       there lie in you and me the phantoms of a world rushed hushed

                                        the ghosts of a dream chained by the sense of the world

                                        the visions of a mind drowned in sentiency.

 

               

                  

                                                               the fountain that bursts out its delightful brawl

                                                               there it shoots, lo! there it stalls

                                                               there it plunges in scrumptious falls

                                                               and the perpetual eye catches it all.

if only could every writer find a new thought

unmarked, untouched, unfelt, unrot.

                    if only could every lover real love discover

                    heralding a heaven of breathing fervor.

if only could every soldier see the first blush

swirl his way out of the rackety rush

                                      the remains of a maiden mind dusted by the whims of the world

                                      scatter their light through crevices daunted and spurned

                                      the hopes of a sight new visions find

                                      of dissolving worlds and transcending lines.

 

 

 

               in me, in you, in the breath of the world

               powerful heavens twist and twirl

               when providence finds gravitised within

               there's no more to lose, no more  to win.

                                      then let ghosts not ghosts still remain

                                      let not this writing go in vain.

                                      let me take thou to that virgin land

                                      thats seems so far, yet so at hand.

              

                                                                     the fountain that bursts out its delightful brawl

                                                                     there it shoots, lo! there it stalls

                                                                     there it plunges in scrumptious falls

                                                                     and the perpetual eye catches it all.