For them, beauty is a drug
There is nothing left for saying;
Not a word, and not a shrug
No gesture this truth conveying;
The rolls of waste we piled upon
With pretty figures peeking
What thing there are they seeking
Has it now but come and gone?
Perhaps their masters have gone away
Into some grand, immortal day
Beneath a strange and ample sun
But they have nothing left to say;
There is no sense to any of it;
But no one will dare but say this
The truth must give us all a fit
We lost, foolish and aimless;
Say we are lost, it is half a lie
For each of us thinks he knows
In the secret places he goes
Where we all are, and why;
Spit it out, bitter and salt
Tell me truly; for I am at fault!
We lost ourselves – how very sly
We will not march; we will not halt.
Once a way existed for us
A pattern of intricate tapestry
A myth perhaps, a sacred trust
And we have given it all away
For a glimpse of beauty– was it that
Did we know what we were seeing
Thread on thread then, freeing
That map which we had once laid flat?
Sick with blindness, upon a sea
We gesture about quite valiantly;
But sink we must, from shoe to hat
At last! At last! Our liberty.