And comfort comes in stations on the banks
Of all great rivers, benchmarks, watersheds
And monuments, fuels to fire wholeness in zeitgeists; glories led
By strange humilities as masters whose histories are blanks,
About whom generations cavil yet in certainty invoke
In lesser moments of a meaner age as they lean toward
More prosaïc goals framed at best to ward
Off ephemeral national malaise. They must surely evoke
A wonder in the people, and awe
Amongst the gods, and in the end, such lights
Cannot be masked, nor can the transitory might
Of kings suppress their fires and eagles, nor what they note as law.
And of course, here we find our Shakespeare, Father of the modern text
Spread boldly through the backstreets of London, Beijing, or Washington
Dialogues whose stars retain their lights beyond the pale; Prophets,
Princes of the Peace, Messengers and Branches of God
Through Whom all that is is synthesized. These human synods
Of truth, chastisement, and admonition seek to stymie sophists,
Lift the veils but briefly in the clouds, the dusts of spoils
Within and without this tired earth. Notwithstanding, in and of Themselves
They submit to the inevitable scourge, the wrack, the nails;
And yet, no more than breath, itself, the Elixir provides little but foils
To byways and service roads for circuses of scoffers, hacks, and puppet kings.
Witness, then, the unfettered Word in time dividing fire from light, so simple.
To the heart, unlettered; to the mind, forsaken; mortality to symbols
And immortality to promises and everlasting healing to the joy of wings
And wonder for they who care to use them. The Standard: God is One! unfurled
And brilliantly revealed, as The Christ declares, “I’ve overcome the world!”


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