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Whilst she posed, prettifying melancholia
the rest were wearing it alternately;
lost wayfaring days ‘midst lapsing degradation.
Her sphinx-like enigmas,
oracles, empuzzlements.
And because he hopes to never go back there again
- in pangs, runes, perplexity-
the idea comes to him
to channel his survival
in the service of others;
and come to that and study as much as he can
to give the clearest-cut, precision of ideas
that style esteems for many hard years
Of struggle, ascertaining due ennoblement.
But if he deals only money for money,
he is only for the moment.
Yet if he can readily duel the clash of sparking tongues,
invoke his vigorous words,
wherein reveals a glimmering truth
So may it be that He
one day be King.
Wednesday, March 10, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: logic,prayer,kingdom,tradition,ethics,reconciliation

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4/15/2021 6:08:32 AM #