Mass

round the roots down
to boiling stone
the bath of time
the bath unknown
it washes away
all iniquity if such
a belief suits thee
but it carries on
to the next and again
and so on until
the very last end
a wash, a life,
a filth or more
as we all ebb and
flow from the shore
but is there ever
a time to cease
is there ever a
moment of release
it all seems to
wind round a coil
up from the mud and
back down in the soil
perhaps its only just
a rhythmic pulse
and it's all driven
with a cosmic convulse
each life that is
a blink of an eye
to peer further into
chaos and the divine
so it has been
and so it must be
to belong to existence
to be chained to a tree
besides the mass of what
is found in deed and thought
what must there be
of what there is not