A Carthusian
Sunset Over Skane
Here King
Ale lies three thousand years
Or more. Until the end of time appears
These
stones will mark his comb. The sun will rise
Over the
timeless stones; the sun will set
In silent
flames over the ship of stones;
And Ale
will smile from where he now abides
At his
great monument, the labour, the cost,
The folly.
But ever such were men. Here
Man is
rooted, submerged in matter: beyond
This
seeing, feeling life of flesh and blood
How could
we guess a higher life exists?
A life
devoid of matter, feeling, time,
A life of
immense freedom to know and love,
A life
that would not end beneath the stones,
Who could
suspect such wonders? The mythic King
And modern
man no less are sceptics here.
We live
for the taste of life, the feel, the sight,
The
endless music; we cling to senses, deny
The grave
and toast the Inn of Merriment.
But grace
is ever at work. God melts our pride,
His
presence caters the person’s darkest place
That we
might witness the sunrice of his face…
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