What World Is This?

Not preordained, not programmed
ties that bound cut to pieces
what is to emerge?
No rough beast sloughs here.
It is a new millennium.
Perhaps, if the levee don't fail,
a state of grace may find us,
even if the sky holds only air.
Destiny independent of holy demons
or royal honour
can be self-reliant.
No matter the power relegated
to God or Country,
the well-examined self
is a force of nature.

A shy wood nymph watchs warily,
ready to bolt at the slightest threat.
She knows her universe is in the balance.
It is we who decide
sacred? profane? a world between?

What world is this
in swaddling clothes
at the break of dawn?

(c) July 10, 2006 Laurie Corzett/libramoon