"This is the generation of the great LEVIATHAN, or rather, to speak more reverently of that mortal god, to which we own under the immortal God, our peace and defense." -Thomas Hobbes: Leviathan
With Father Reason book in tow
I felt the last of passion’s breath
Descend down to the grave below
“In the midst of life we are in death”
I squeeze the tighter her fleshy hand,
Which held my fingers limp and bland,
Mother Good Sense and Earthen ground,
Known to all and world renowned.
I gaze him cast the dirt and earth,
Down to silenced dreams and mirth,
And cry I wells my emptied heart,
To see my spirit now depart.
He heard my sobs and turned to see,
With fleshless crystal orbs on me,
Ashamed my tears it froze to ice,
To mourn the loss a foolish vice.
“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust”,
Maintained Father Reason with his task.
Stifled and buried beneath the grass,
There lies my passion dead at last.
Subdued walked I my Mother away,
Though daring neither to mourn nor bray,
Yet striving vainly my peace retain,
Despairing demand my passion regain.
Knelt down my Mother with a kiss,
She soothed the emptied heart I missed,
Caressed the wound which marred my face,
And the dark she light with her embrace.
“My child”, whispered she mine ear,
her soulful eyes on me they peered,
“They lie not dead but just asleep,
Wearied from trying their form to keep.”
“Will I know them again?” from fear I asked,
Void now of all dreams and hopes of last.
“If your passions be good”, the gentle reply,
“In this world or the next, you may rely.”
Sensing the longing of the dark,
Nodded she sagely and remarked,
“No sin it is to remember the dead,
On occasion to call to mind the late.”
“Remember this only”, gently warning,
“Replace not life with endless mourning,
When darkness falls and Father sleeps,
To this grave by the shadows creep,
And under the night you may weep.”
“But when the rooster the dawn proclaims,
Father Reason your life he claims,
Dwell no more in shadows past,
Attend the day the appointed task.”
Marked she my forehead with her lips,
The warm red to my heart diffused,
A hope which before I never knew,
Into my soul it leaps.
“Despair not ever of your passion,
Though subject to their condemnation,
But hope in heaven’s compassion divine,
For the grace of your passion revived.”