The Seeds of Wisdom

I

What further seeds of wisdom need I seek
When all my thoughts are yet mean and bleak;
When endless knowledge results not in truth,
Nor in sagacity, but in a shadowy, endless room?

I have pursued the infinite, whispering wind.
To what end? May I still sadly belate.
To watch my fears slowly, softly take me hold,
Or silently to behold the swirling tides explode.

What more use have I in picking flowers
If I should only to stand to wait beside the hours,
The days, each second counting the soul:
Wasted, gone with everything before my eyes unknown.

All doubts duly teaming tear my fragile sanity from sight
As the lethargy, committing me to early death, delights.
As for you, quick death, could I breath anew?
Or, would again my doubts continue to ensue?

Happiness, in lively step I should cheer;
Melting to pure ecstasy would my memories but leave me here,
But these shadows beyond should conspire to pull me back.
Damn this eternity! Damn this wretched, infernal trap!

No other bonds, indeed, despite this hull,
Which the breath impedes to draw apart,
Leaving an existence of consistently futile remarks:
Where, lacking the strength to break the ropes, the chains, the wires,
All ideas perpetually suspend me above fatalistic desires.

II

To thee, dear night, I broach reprieve.
Believe we shall roam these vacant streets
Whose sounds of dark dissention turn to us.
Somber wind? Thou art here as well, I trust.

We shalt batter thee, breeze, the night and I;
Thy durst to whisper so close again to spy.
We shall wretch this heady power over life
By stretching thy fingers to smote the sky.

What an illusion, we will boldly forsake:
At last bestowing the world thy callous face.
Silken infant, as thou dost refuge in sleep,
We shall prove thou art naught but a feeble dream.

So smile, sweet child, before the earth grows dim;
Freeze thy frosty, thy frigid, white, blazing light.
Burn us too, but, whatever you do,
Remember these open holes will still shine through.

No doubt sleeping in Heaven, Angels can see me,
Attempting at every moment to hide the other tree.
Let it disappear, allow it to fade,
Such a purity the world must not degrade.

Then to stop, shudder, blinking thine eyes,
Forcing white clouds to cover the holes as you cry.
Acquiescence, how can I not accept defeat?
A poor peasant, fit only to become dust beneath your feet.

Thus, dust does float to mix to wind.
So, dust does flutter on feathered wings.
I will fly, I will fly, I shall finally see
Above the clouds, above the world, above the sea
Combining, intertwining to carry the true seeds.

I wrote this at age 19 after 5 years of writing poetry. What I was studying in college was bringing me no closer to finding any universal truths, while acquisition of knowledge in and of itself wasn't sufficient for me (endless knowledge for knowledge's sake). After this poem, I ceased to write poetry for about 10 years as I felt I had written everything I had to say in this one poem. It will always remain one of my favorites.