Babble of the Wise

The world is ablaze, and without pause,

lines are drawn in the sand, measured from afar.

I hesitate to write. Will my pen spill ink on paper

and smudge the lines? Words meant for solace

are misconstrued, twisted, and misread

to signify the contrary of their intent.

Truly, what is left to say that hasn’t

been uttered a thousand times before?

Have we not exhausted our lexicon? We diminish

wisdom, and scorn the faces of philosophers

and sages, trample upon their inscribed tablets,

the script now an unrecognizable babble.

In this age, it appears up is down

and left is right, yet it remains unchanged.

Speak as you may of the ancient seers and their fantastical

tales, but there was a kernel of truth nestled in those

scrolls. What has been will be once more;

nothing is new under the sun.

One day, all understanding will fade

into nothingness. The skies will unfurl, and flesh

and bone will vanish like dust in the wind. And then,

what will the towering peaks and the abyssal

depths recount of us? What melodies

will the birds weave of humanity?

I dare not seek hope where it does

not dwell; there is none to be found in the scheming

of mankind. Instead, I fix my gaze upon the blue skies,

the moon, the stars, and the universe that existed

long before I was even a whisper of thought.

I find hope beyond the horizon.

"All truly wise thoughts have been thought already

thousands of times; but to make them truly ours,

we must think them over again honestly,

till they take root in our personal experience."

— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe