The Sage Speaks of Enlightenment

it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
Stretching out against the night, I see the cedar's arms
The color of this winter night's uncertainty alarms
Black spears fifty fold and hundreds more below
And what's the color of the sky, I shall never know
I guess it is a purple or perhaps it is an orange
The light of modernity, as sickly as it's strange
The enlightenment! Enow I see it in the distance lay
It bustles with effulgence that rivals now the day
But at this middle distance its brightness is quite dim
Even if within itself with brightness it does brim
Eliot's old sunset; a patient etherized
Though if withal it is -- it is one oddly sized
And nearly dead, even if a sunset as it sets
Does the pain of loneliness rise as it begets
Is it any different then the city's sour light
Or is it in the ICU, extending through the night
Its final stay upon the earth, its throes have come upon
Its light now a vomit, cast upon my lawn
An excrement of smoky light to blot out all the stars
The eyes of every tower, the eyes of all the cars
Screaming in a chorus! Blaring into space
Where their rays abyssal ways consume without a trace?
So much for an enlightened age, a newly found insight
With electric lamps showing only their own light
Against them stands the darkness, but not just the obscure
Perhaps the dark of mystery, as deep as it is pure
Unpierced by sight they pierce the night, the older things rebel
Virginal shroud; a shadow'd cloud, the music starts to swell
But it is only just imagined, in between a breath
The man and the cedar tree are only what is left
The cedar black against the sky uncertain in its hue
Beware O man, against such can but darkness e'er be true.

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