Debacle

The trees in trouble because of autumn,         And scarlet berries falling from the bush,     And all the myriad houseless seeds         Loosing hold in the wind's insistent push     Moan softly with autumnal parturition,         Poor, obscure fruits extruded out of light     Into the world of shadow, carried down         Between the bitter knees of the after-night.     Bushed in an uncouth ardour, coiled at core         With a knot of life that only bliss can unravel,     Fall all the fruits most bitterly into earth         Bitterly into corrosion bitterly travel.     What is it internecine that is locked,         By very fierceness into a quiescence     Within the rage? We shall not know till it burst         Out of corrosion into new florescence.     Nay, but how tortured is the frightful seed         The spark intense within it, all without     Mordant corrosion gnashing and champing hard         For ruin on the naked small redoubt.     Bitter, to fold the issue, and make no sally;         To have the mystery, but not go forth;     To bear, but retaliate nothing, given to save         The spark in storms of corrosion, as seeds from the north.     The sharper, more horrid the pressure, the harder the heart         That saves the blue grain of eternal fire     Within its quick, committed to hold and wait         And suffer unheeding, only forbidden to expire.