To set in rhyme the Soul's Rosetta Stone
is the high prize for poets both pure in heart,
and loyal to this precious quest alone,
Some men forego the medals of their art.
Shallow, and spandex smooth, much prose of Now
is written for the wall, unfit to keep
against the breast, for fear a holy cow
will trojan horse itself amidst the sheep.
This slippery and highly polished verse
evades sincerity, and favors wit
and irony to fixed perspective's curse,
forswearing flight, content to float and flit.
In the beginning, the word was absolute
And truth was more than pretty waxen fruit.