I wanted the world, and I found it,
I poked and I prodded with certain glee.
What I had found was youthful and free,
a boyish desire for wild
and wildernesses within me,
but the world was wicked and cheap
and myself so dumb and naïve
that I had found pills and gold drink.
As if mad with famine I drank
sunrise right out of the bottle,
and the pills went down as a sliver
crescent moon, little and jagged,
and all I had wanted was lost
in the swollen tide of my youth.
I wanted the dollars, and lost ‘em
more often than I had found them.
if it was worthless or cheap, I downed it,
I hurled myself into despair.
I wanted the world, and I drop it—
‘til I lay melting into the bed.
I thought that this was what I wanted,
the world and all its glittery charms.
What I had found was painful and weak,
a voyage of fire and fright,
and the horrible wound of my life
left writhing on a bed of pain,
but I rebounded from the edge
as one sometimes does from these things.
I wanted the world, and I found it,
as snow falling in winter hours.
What I had found was that season,
a boyish melting of ice
and the rivulets of all life,
where the world is newborn and kind—
and myself I wanted life and joy
like summer’s valleys fresh and clean.
