Through that window—all else being extinct <br />Except itself and me—I saw the struggle <br />Of darkness against darkness. Within the room <br />It turned and turned, dived downward. Then I saw <br />How order might—if chaos wished—become: <br />And saw the darkness crush upon itself, <br />Contracting powerfully; it was as if <br />It killed itself, slowly: and with much pain. <br />Pain. The scene was pain, and nothing but pain. <br />What else, when chaos draws all forces inward <br />To shape a single leaf? . . . <br /> For the leaf came <br />Alone and shining in the empty room; <br />After a while the twig shot downward from it; <br />And from the twig a bough; and then the trunk, <br />Massive and coarse; and last the one black root. <br />The black root cracked the walls. Boughs burst <br /> the window: <br />The great tree took possession. <br /> Tree of trees! <br />Remember (when time comes) how chaos died <br />To shape the shining leaf. Then turn, have courage, <br />Wrap arms and roots together, be convulsed <br />With grief, and bring back chaos out of shape. <br />I will be watching then as I watch now. <br />I will praise darkness now, but then the leaf.<br /><br />Conrad Potter Aiken<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-room-2/
