"All things have a place under the moon
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as well as the sun " - Elliott Smith
The window through which shines
the imperious summer sun
will with time bear frosty spears;
The radiant face of merry wit
will give vent to salty tears,
as wildly swaying hips of youth
as do those of the bright rose...
yes, through all veins of vast creation
the blood of chaos flows...
and everything to Father order born
with enough time
to our darker nature's mother goes.
Yes, Mother Kali waits
upon son and upon daughter,
upon footman and upon lord
inciting the wise to measure the sun
and make haste through the open door...
she follows the dutiful businessman
on his profitable rounds about town,
and trails the beautiful young bride
on the skirts of her silken gown
As the patient teacher
upon the errant student,
like the alluring apple in Eden,
the burning fire in the household hearth,
as Tamerlane at the city gates
or the statuesque cat for the mouse,
Born by bright Indian street-lamp
when cave Romans
huddled in the cold and damp,
Kali warms herself in the cremation fire
and, bathed in ashes,
through the winter waits...
Becrowned by a garland of skulls
upon gnarled matted hair,
she dances in revolving twirls
beneath Li Bai's summer cherry blossoms,
till over the mountains ice-encrusted clouds fly,
With the lazy drift
of koi-kissed autumn leaves,
Kali out-waits Fall...
Yes, by right,
by Murphy's law,
and by satellite,
Kali waits upon us all