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the alchemist

18 May 2010

base–
tin and lead, and sadness ahead,
where the golden elixir of truth
is pour’d; and the hoard
of ancient wisdom and spurious knowledge
collect and pile on in caverns deep
where agéd dragons steam and sleep–
and through all these passions that boil,
a harvest of delight,
a harvest of sorrow,
the universal resonances remain
in the heart of the heart
of the heart of the brain
as again and again transformation occurs;
the hurts and aches of the age
weigh heavy on the operation,
but thanklessly the head refuses
transfusions of grace in the face
of further disaster, and he,
like Zoroaster, finds the reasons all the same:
vain and foolish, sad and diseased,
but changing and remaining
through such painful release
and in the end
a new and wonderful soul of
gold.

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3 Comments leave one →
  1. 18 May 2010 18:30

    I’ve read this poem four times, and each time it says something different. I finally accepted the fact that the alchemist was at work. It’s wonderful.

    • 18 May 2010 20:52

      Thank you, Glynn. It’s a product of some new ideas I’ve been working on lately; there may be a new section to the blog in the near future…

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