Classic Poem

The heart would heal, blood not sour in the veins,
the philosopher's cave not dim in the skull,
the body rise, and in the light, forget its pains,
the once mad apes freed by the glorious wall.

And all would climb the miraculous ladder,
eyes burning, behind mirrors, and in the sun:
see Your face, ineffable, but much sadder,
wrestling with what God for whose will to be done?


(2000)