Born of a philosophy of stone
carved in latin linguistics
fashioned from Tuscan clay
by the hands of a Michelangelo

I bury my head in my hands
the long fingers of Zeus
pointing at my brow, discerning
both intellect and lineage

The observations of science
then as now were paramount
whether for Greek deity
or the political charlatan

before Enoch walked with God
before God took him
did the church bury the fact
the relevance of disclosure

We searched long for hope
yet when hope was found
we buried it deep underground
am I the only mule that feels betrayed

Of carrying these panniers
they are filled with dust
though we mined hard for gold
our mirror now seemingly so old

Howl he said, howl we did
like many dwellers of this earth
those resurrection tellers
now we just stare stupid at the past

Bray at the mythological moon
howl long in your eternal kingdom
the donkey who had learned
to speak before the prophet fell sick

History is like signposts
turned the wrong way round
you cannot hear a sound except
for the murmur of approaching years

Howl he said, I had no retort
the ugliness of deception
laid out on the path beside death
while darkness lurked next to misery

Yet now I did not feel human
discovering their remains
whether seated with mohammed
or prairie hounds upon their sacred ground

We set out at the dawn
our spirits high to climb upward
and every traveller we met
was dressed in robes of green

We attained the summit
purple-headed mountains
icey glaciers and rivers falling
they may still wash the earth again

                                    ©edenbraytoday7.04.2022