As we contend with the human need
To crush ivory into favorite forms,
Dramatize idols stiff, stillborn –
We dedicate this runic seed
In an effort to overcome the creed
Of no specific future’s thorns.
But when essences bloom violent crocus,
Laws no longer seem to count,
March this chalice to the Lover’s Mount –
Let there be awe as at a circus,
Know that enlightenment was with us,
Stand with this on the Lover’s Mount.
Carve upon this earthen bough of time
A word for histories yet to come –
Proclaim the lusts that delivered you from
The nightmare’s abyss of crippled kind,
That held your hand along this climb,
Shaded your eyes from the damning sun.
As the chisel bites this brown veneer
With verse of quests and effort’s praise
The need for such will slowly fade –
The snow-like powder that cleanses fear,
That can lead the old ones through the years,
Convince them that this is the hour to stay,
Will be freed from its sand stone shell
To be whisked with the wind into space,
To slash like sleet at eternity’s face,
To announce to tomorrow with yesterday’s bells
That this sickly environment in which we dwell
Can be saved by digging greed a grave.