the wasteland

april is the cruellest month, breeding

lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

memory and desire, stirring

dull roots with spring rain

my friend, blood shaking my heart

the awful daring of a moment's surrender

which an age of prudence can never retract

by this, and this only, we have existed

which is not to be found in our obituaries

or in memories draped by the beneficent spider

or under seals broken by the lean solicitor

in our empty rooms

how many wars do we have to survive to learn about peace?

how many soldiers do we have to bury to learn about love?

we can sit back and watch while these wars tear apart the beauty of our world and gawk as we see it for what it really is; we can stand to the side while we are one by one reduced to faceless creatures with animal survival urges, famished and animated by a mass terror.    

what are the roots that clutch, what branches grow

out of this stony rubbish?...

quotes from the wasteland by t.s. eliot