I Am

An eternity, it seems,

 – or only a moment? –

have I borne this burden,

this work of sorrow

ceaseless in its being.

Upon a field

grey and lifeless

I am bound,

and there I harvest

the newborn soul.

Memory is not mine,

only the knowing

of what has been

and what must be,

and that, for me,

an eternity of being

is an end to the beginning.