Kenneth Patchen (13 December 1911 - 8 January 1972 / Ohio)
To leave the earth was my wish, and no will stayed my rising.
Early, before sun had filled the roads with carts
Conveying folk to weddings and to murders;
Before men left their selves of sleep, to wander
In the dark of the world like whipped beasts.
I took no pack. I had no horse, no staff, no gun.
I got up a little way and something called me,
'Put your hand in mine. We will seek God together.'
And I answered, 'It is your father who is lost, not mine.'
Then the sky filled with tears of blood, and snakes sang.
Comments about this poem (The Temple by Kenneth Patchen )
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