Post by thefleetsin on Aug 11, 2017 17:34:52 GMT
the philosopher's chair
this is my work
you see,
hired help at university.
i shuffle papers in these racks
sorting this,
discarding that.
in attics and on basement floors
filing and
maintaining scores
of dissertations new and old,
from those
who pontificate the soul.
until one day a stumbled on
a corner
rarely looked upon.
for hidden there under a sheet:
a chair of oak,
carved in replete.
with scrolls and ornate diadems
i marveled
at what sort of men,
must have sat upon this throne,
while teaching
socrates to throngs.
of eager and inquiring youth
who long to know
the god's own truth.
about the world we call our home,
what makes us
long to be reborn.
do we seek truth for knowledge's sake?
do we align our thoughts to make,
a world in our own image
gleaned
from intercourse of the unseen?
but i am not the man to know
the difference in
plato,
thoreau.
for i am here to stack and clean
the thoughts of righteous
and obscene.
who over centuries of time
sat in a chair of oak
refined.
and still i hear the wanton cry
in the halls as i
pass by.
of those who would reclaim
this chair,
set themselves up a knowledge faire.
to claim to know the absolute,
by god
this is the god's own truth!
for still the dust will gather here
upon all these
who sit in chairs.
seems i will never go unfed
as long as questions
go unwed.
with answers of these wanting minds
who clamber
for the thoughts divine,
of those whose buns heated this chair,
i best replace it's cover
there.
for still i have much work to do
between
basement and attic stews,
all these boys
who would be men,
philosophers with nice rear ends.
will need their chairs
to perch upon
and beat their chests to siren songs.
proclaiming their proclivities,
never knowing
they
are god to me!
© sjw 09/06/09 inspired at this very moment in time by the_death_of_achilles & gendo saved by christ.
from the 'beauty series' of poems
this is my work
you see,
hired help at university.
i shuffle papers in these racks
sorting this,
discarding that.
in attics and on basement floors
filing and
maintaining scores
of dissertations new and old,
from those
who pontificate the soul.
until one day a stumbled on
a corner
rarely looked upon.
for hidden there under a sheet:
a chair of oak,
carved in replete.
with scrolls and ornate diadems
i marveled
at what sort of men,
must have sat upon this throne,
while teaching
socrates to throngs.
of eager and inquiring youth
who long to know
the god's own truth.
about the world we call our home,
what makes us
long to be reborn.
do we seek truth for knowledge's sake?
do we align our thoughts to make,
a world in our own image
gleaned
from intercourse of the unseen?
but i am not the man to know
the difference in
plato,
thoreau.
for i am here to stack and clean
the thoughts of righteous
and obscene.
who over centuries of time
sat in a chair of oak
refined.
and still i hear the wanton cry
in the halls as i
pass by.
of those who would reclaim
this chair,
set themselves up a knowledge faire.
to claim to know the absolute,
by god
this is the god's own truth!
for still the dust will gather here
upon all these
who sit in chairs.
seems i will never go unfed
as long as questions
go unwed.
with answers of these wanting minds
who clamber
for the thoughts divine,
of those whose buns heated this chair,
i best replace it's cover
there.
for still i have much work to do
between
basement and attic stews,
all these boys
who would be men,
philosophers with nice rear ends.
will need their chairs
to perch upon
and beat their chests to siren songs.
proclaiming their proclivities,
never knowing
they
are god to me!
© sjw 09/06/09 inspired at this very moment in time by the_death_of_achilles & gendo saved by christ.
from the 'beauty series' of poems