A Slave to Limit
a poem by William P. Meyers
"The will is infinite; the execution confined
Desire is boundless; the act a slave to limit"*
Fifty generations of first-born sons
Have lorded over a corner of England
Because one man, one armored brute,
Did swing a sword at Hastings.
Boundless desire loves the hunt
The howling hounds, the obstacles,
The taking of the prize.
Tag it with a ring, and off again.
Being a slave to limit has its charms
No need to hunt foxes on a rainy day
No need to whip horses
No feeling of unending starvation
No constant thirst.
His home was his carousel
Circling around the absent sun
The music played, people came and went
The horses bobbed, racing to eternity.
No one has ever conquered the world
Not Caesar, not Victoria, not Mao.
The infinite will
Sinks into the bog of other infinite wills
And rivers of blood
Rivers of molten steel
Rivers of asphalt
Rivers of taxes and
Rivers of drafted warriors
All tumble down.
To the infinite, boundless,
*Troilus and Cressida, Act III Sc. II, lines 88-90
Copyright 2015 by William P. Meyers, all rights reserved