The East

Photo by Richard R. Schünemann on Unsplash

I sought the East and East precisely,
the gleaming lights and white halls lively.
The bloomy wind and the Maiden’s wrist,
her florid rind and those whistling Liszt.

But the West is West and not the East,
no bloomy wind, no maiden’s wrist.

But I fear if it is a deceit another,
and in the East there is an East another.

And I fear if it is all a Wide West,
and my perseverance is but another test.
Perseverance to seek the righteous path,
and I fear it’s all the patience I hath.

And what I fear is if I yield and yield in the West,
and seek not the rectitude but the rest.
Would I have passed thy holy tes’
or committed an unsanct transgress.