The Philosopher

Anachronism Absurd

Up the vault of Heaven’s stair, he foundered
Seeking in the midst of myrid ways:
One way true, that from man’s mind was sundered,
Long before hued history’s assays,
Wove, rewove the weaves tinting to greys:
Vibrant black, virginal white, in waking,
Wound the cord winding him though the maze,
As Fate’s skin, sloughed off snake skein, retaking
Road and crossroad round the wheel raking
Up the muck whence his first footsteps came,
Fastened in the mould of his soul breaking,
Recarnate anew and always the same.

Sweet fool, your prison’s door is open wide,
Slacken your reins and let the Shepherd ride.

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The last couplet is bad. Have you better?

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