THE SECOND COMING
Turning and turning in the widening gyre   The falcon cannot hear the falconer;   Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;   Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,   The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere   The ceremony of innocence is drowned;   The best lack all conviction, while the worst   Are full of passionate intensity.
  Surely some revelation is at hand;   Surely the Second Coming is at hand.   The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out   When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi   Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;   A shape with lion body and the head of a man,   A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,   Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it   Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
  The darkness drops again but now I know   That twenty centuries of stony sleep   Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,   And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,   Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
I saw this quoted in a book Iâm reading and find it applicable to these days and my Good Friday vibes.
