A thought.it reads:
Now I'm finally done with it all
Forgiving every arrogant poet
Thinking that he just might know what
The truth is, and so thusly call
Such important truths to mind
And then in history they must find
To treat the center-most event
The axis of each brightling star
As some if Gallilean Carpenter
Blathering weakly on was spent
And that the most immortal Paul
Was some Pharisee miscreant?
Who speak glibly of the Universal
Of Art and Beauty and Community
But then, blinkered fail to see
That such were truly God and gods
Walking among us as mortal men
What would that demand of them?
I'm not for long bets on such odds
For youth is freedom and tyranny;
And Romantics die so far less free
Than the meek who built each Roman wall
Can we expect a decent talk on Kin
From those so uncontrolled within
Seek a way to have no control at all?
Do the stars now move at their every word
Was their song something never heard
Did their paltry books stack half as high
Did their blood at last make things divine
Could they even draw an unfaltering line
Or must we pity and must we sigh
Because they wore that deathly pall -- ?
No, for I am done with it all.