Sunday, December 20, 2009

Song // Allen Ginsberg

The weight of the world
 is love.
Under the burden
 of solitude,
under the burden
 of dissatisfaction

 the weight,
the weight we carry
 is love.

Who can deny?
 In dreams
it touches
 the body,
in thought
 constructs
a miracle,
 in imagination
anguishes 
 till born
in human--

looks out of the heart
 burning with purity--
for the burden of life 
 is love,

but we carry the weight
 wearily,
and so must rest
in the arms of love
 at last,
must rest in the arms
 of love.

No rest
 without love,
no sleep
 without dreams
of love--
 be mad or chill
obsessed with angels
 or machines,
the final wish
 is love
--cannot be bitter,
 cannot deny,
cannot withhold
 if denied:

the weight is too heavy

 --must give
for no return
 as thought
is given 
 in solitude
in all the excellence
 of its excess.

The warm bodies
 shine together
in the darkness,
 the hand moves
to the center
 of the flesh,
the skin trembles
 in happiness
and the soul comes
 joyful to the eye--

yes, yes,
 that's what
I wanted,
 I always wanted,
I always wanted,
 to return
to the body
 where I was born.

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