My fathers strung for me
No geneologic [sic] rosary
Beads of hypnotic truth.
And I must now by sheer
Intellect fear
The cul de sac,
The worthless destiny that ends at Turn Back.
My fathers achieved
Only their own doom in the self-heaven.
By their dead sons only be they forgiven!
I must marshall evidence
Something is worth striving.
A poem is not a patterned ghost
In a wind-chariot driving.
Around me and around
A universe swings -
I have believed in my heart
And the prophets know my kings
