such stuff are we
and all things made
dreaming on, on
our spirit and flesh resolved,
these towering clouds of droplets
melted once to fall again and again
rippling the muck
the very fabric on our backs
is based on a form, filled
by a vision
there was a bang
then light went forth
with matters to attend
and potentials to birth
death comes, it came before,
it comes, not as a rack
but a collapse
all our possible worlds
dissolve into this one
gorgeous rock, this palace,
a home to vibrating atoms
a little rounded life
both bound and free
both found and lost
it’s bounded but free, found
and lost, lost and found, on
and on, our revels a spiral, to end
and begin, to begin and end
3 comments:
Very nice, Francis. Thanks for.
Thanks Peter. I always appreciate your visits.
For those not familiar with Shakespeare's play "The Tempest," here's the passage the poem tries to make a mess of:
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
(Act 4, scene 1, 148–158)
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