The Orator calls thinks on Truth Long Forgotten

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
The vision is ever constant, but reality is in flux
Says the man of ideas, whilst the bricks he ducks
To some of the others, who may wield the brick
Ideas all lack substance, but the world itself is thick;

The distributist who wrote that had something else in mind
For the ideas must find their purpose, when they are refined
By the fires of struggle, or at least some concrete test
If they were not constant, he'd quickly be redressed;

As many were in turn, often by their own device
Many were a lonely virtue, which soon becomes a vice;
Others resisted reality, tried to make for it a cage
And but others did only a war against it wage;

The golden thread! Do you see it running like the sparks
Through the dry kindling until the flame should make its marks
It zigs, it zags, it seems about as constant as the breeze
But is quite determined if you for a moment freeze;

And see the light and dark there create a kaleidoscope
Of this flashing fractal of a long forgotten hope
The good and true may always be driven to a rout
But drive still good man, drive still, for the truth will out!

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