To him silence is an elemental terror
By unburdening the load of distraction
It bears upon him a wholly alien weight
Pounds of ectoplasmic abstraction
Heady, candle-lit, notional greatness
The likes of which was championed by
Cramped intellectuals and chap-knuckled monks
Who, in exhuming the mental tombs
Of their predecessors, resuscitated a pulse
Forgotten in the morose hinterland - the medieval hubris
Your monastic man huddled close to a wick
expunging midnight oil, expounding unoriginal orthodoxy
For the purpose of blinding himself to the blunt
brass that accompanies grand sojourns into text
and perilous pathways into the minds of experiential men
Those enlightened beings - quite another species
Brought crashing down with due brashness
Hobbling, gold-leafed structures; From 800, the Axials
Spanned nationhood and biblical boundaries
To quicken, kindle, foster, and entreat
The word of God - the son of Man
an exhaustive breath from lungs
not completely pure yet nothing less
than perennially human
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