Cycles of blank eternity

Saint Augustine Meditates:

I pouring derision hot upon my days,
Hurrying to solder twisted chords of this music,
Catching the threads with bitter broken fingers,
Could I affirm the common way?
Once it was measurement of laughter,
Song in the berry, wisdom in the wine,
Oblivion for hereafter, and to stumbling time
Whirlwind. Yes, we had made our madness holy,
Worshipped the witless feet, bought off the fates
Till they were aged to mellow languor.
I was a fool, eating the violet-colored flowers,
Bruising untasted fruit, or pretending to shadows.
And all the while the years swirled over me,
Eddied about the darkness of my eyes.

Clarence Weinstock.