Chronicler

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Chronicler

Poem

In wide-eyed adolescence I often looked up
In wonder at science’s surface magnificence,
All its schemata and formulae of convenience
Made to serve the purpose of human group.

In mid-age I sat rapt before many a bard
And songsters who mine the heart’s depth
Recording swings of our passion’s breath
And the deeds of those heroes long dead.

When my fire-bud bloomed I did glimpse
The marvel of the Sage and the Seer word,
Assaulting with luminous thoughts all bold
Each occult door of high subtle heavens.

Then I shed my mind and vital grew silent,
A stranger to thought and orphaned by will,
Functioning by a process I know not still,
I saw the Power moving all and immanent.

The tomes familiar that once grew strange
Now shone with a new light too marvellous,
In them I gleaned a single hand tremendous
That transcribed all layers in cosmic range.

‘Oh happy serendipity, this my Master’s hand!’, cried I,
‘Hence burn these words of our Chronicler from Eternity!’