A Poem That Surprised Me in the Middle of the Night

“Passion, passion!” Cries the deep

From its mortal fears it weeps

“Passion is, and passion all!”

Echoes down the empty hall.

 

Tries the other to proclaim,

“Hollow life will be your gain!”

But in the silence it will creep

And from the weeping of the deep,

 

Through trial  and toil it may keep,

“Passion, passion!” It strives to leap,

claims the throne though others seek,

Pain and suffering it will reap.

 

“Fleeting, fleeting!” Cries the meek

From its hidden, unkempt peak.

Sees all, knows all, still it waits,

For those seeking past the gates.

 

“Hurry, hurry!” Passion spits

from its greedy, lust-filled pits.

“Slowly, slowly!” Counters Meek,

guiding, warning from the weak,

 

But Passion, still the crown it seeks,

and in the darkness it will keep,

Crawling, snaring, it will sneak:

drips of sweat and pale of cheek.

 

And yet here still stays the meek,

through the murk and mire bleak.

Still it sees and knows and waits

for true seekers of the gate.

 

 

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