Is there a place here for the spirit ? Is there time on this brief platform for anything other than mind 's failure to explain itself?

I have known exile and a wild passion Of longing changing to a cold ache. King, beggar and fool , I have been all by turns, Knowing the body's sweetness, the mind 's treason ; Taliesin still, I show you a new world , risen, Stubborn with beauty , out of the heart 's need .

I am a man now. Pass your hand over my brow. You can feel the place where the brains grow.

The old men ask for more time; the young waste it. And the philosopher simply smiles, knowing there is none there.

We live in our own world , A world that is too small For you to stoop and enter Even on hands and knees, The adult subterfuge.

Even God had a Welsh name : He spoke to him in the old language; He was to have a peculiar care For the Welsh people. History showed us He was too big to be nailed to the wall Of a stone chapel, yet still we crammed him Between the boards of a black book .

I have nowhere to go. The swift satellites show The clock of my whole being is slow.