Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Ross Payton
2019-07-04 21:15:54 +0000 UTCRinaldo
2019-07-04 20:33:37 +0000 UTCjames burns
2019-06-27 20:42:26 +0000 UTCRoss Payton
2019-06-27 17:03:50 +0000 UTCLuke Woods
2019-06-27 13:30:17 +0000 UTCsevrl bats
2019-06-27 08:12:37 +0000 UTCsevrl bats
2019-06-27 00:09:52 +0000 UTC