SAINT JULIAN PRESS

KEVIN MCGRATH ~ POET

 

 

I I - 34

 

 

The immortals are all about us

Yet they do not know their names,

Sometimes it is their suffering

Their loneliness and remorse

That releases them from being

The desperation of this place.

 

Then they perform their worth

Their music and their words,

With vision and compassion, love

Pacifying and conceiving for

We who live and walk the earth

Remain obscured by flames.

 

Their genius and lightness go

Sovereign and easily,

The quietness and softness of

Their joy is for us so firm,

Beautiful and kindly as

They reflect their force upon us.

 

Inscrutable and undestined

Enduring darkness in the world,

Their despair for an earthly void

Illuminates our hesitation

With signs of slowest passion:

Then one day they are gone and

We recall them in human prayer.

 

 

 

 

 

I I - 35

 

 

It is not what we leave

But what we go towards

That counts in the end:

For nothing is ever still

There is no unmoving,

In each other’s eyes

We only breathe and dwell.

 

Accomplishment is nil

If it does not send us on

Towards what we do not

Know or cannot gain:

For nothing is ever lost

In our recollection.