“The Third Arrival” by W. Y. Beats – Writing through “The Second Coming” by W. B. Yeats

The Third Arrival
Swinging and swirling in the expanding widening vortex
The hawk cannot ascertain the peddler;
Items go to pieces; the core cannot carry;
Mere chaos is released in the system,
The ichor-obscured flow is discharged, and throughout
The service of naiveté is suffocated;
The soundest have no opinion, whereas the gravest
Are filled with hysterical enthusiasm.

Clearly, a certain apocalypse is at impending;
Indeed the Third Arrival is at imminent.
The Third Arrival! Rarely are these terms extended
If a broad representation out of Animus Orbi
Bewilders my apprehension: someplace in the dirt of the badlands
A form with a cat frame and the crumpet of a fellow,
A blush empty and cold as the star,
Is passing its sluggish hams, whilst all around it
Wheel umbrae of the displeased waste birdies.
The concealment falls repeatedly, yet presently I grasp
Those twenty-three eras of firm nap
Did annoyed to bummer by a wobbling crib,
And what rugged monster, its time occurs finally,
Sluggards to Bethlehem to be spawned?

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