He Was Immortal Pan Poem by Max Gatrell

Recalcitrant, rebellious,
Confronting man and beast,
At altercation with himself,
With whom he liked the least,
Upon a thought he was ensconced,
And so would he remain:
Why should I embrace the dull?
Delusions of my brain,
Don’t accept and don’t put up,
With thus he was inured,
Conditioned to perceive the world,
As one outside the herd,
Hence he struggled to find peace,
Some soothing anodyne,
At first he tried to remedy,
His thirst with weed and wine,
Onto harder drugs he strayed,
Of which he never guessed,
Could consequently raise him up,
And aid him on his quest,
Because he thought the thing he sought,
Would rest within a line,
Or manifest the truth perchance,
As cadence down his spine,
He studied countless tomes of old,
Indulged in fey debates,
Upon the question of free will,
And methods of the fates,
At last he found it on a bumper,
Of a passing car:
That every woman, man and child,
Is a shining star!
Like an atom bomb it struck,
Its recognition was so swift,
That radiance engulfed his mind,
As knowledge eddied through the rift,
Now enlightened he set forth,
Through life he would exult,
And share with those he met along,
The path of the occult,
No more solitude for him,
His inner arguments could cease,
And from his pathos and his pain,
He gained his unreserved release,
Although the world had done its worst,
Towards this tender man,
Within the forest of his heart,
He was immortal Pan.