Oh Be’uty, ever mysterious Muse!
With each passing day, do You fade away;
In thinking to use, did we so abuse
All the wisdom You have tried to convey?
As the pride of mankind evermore swelled,
An errant view of You did we abide;
But if we release this prejudice held,
Perhaps again You may be a sure guide?
But is this not a project made in vain,
Held in constraint by inward looking minds?
From our past, told there is nothing to gain,
Only barbarism of many kinds.
But if we do not mend ourselves with Her,
Will Memory not weigh down man’s poor soul?
For with Her we must constantly concur,
Lest these hearts of ours never become whole.
We must indulge Nostalgia for a time,
To see of what He has hold in the mind.
And if this consoles our oft’ troubled rhyme:
A weightlessness, perchance, will we then find.
Searching not the annals of history,
But a truth held deeply within our breast;
Ancient persons performed such inquiry—
From those past, may we find a source of rest.
Yet all I have to offer is a point,
At which those better than I may commence:
And though I wish I had power to appoint,
I could not force someone to such expense.
Let us return to a moment of youth,
No longer a babe, but hardly yet man;
We can only hope to recall the truth;
Despite lost years, we do the best we can.
Perhaps from here a story will be found,
Directing the heart to where it should start;
When we not yet bound, had knowledge profound.
But this too far for me—I must depart.
Hoping for Clarity 