Beyond the politics of earthly gains,
our galaxy awaits. What wood-worm bores
into the brain, that soon all wonder drains,
and very few are driven to find doors
that lead to higher modes of thought? What taint
decays the child's heart, in so few years,
the Philistines would rather slay the saint,
than scrutinize and ponder fresh frontiers.
Much effort must be made to shake the trance
that monkey herd's demand for membership.
The little dramas that destroy our chance
to glean clean light, must first be given slip,
if ever we'll behold the stunning Grace
that gathered dust from stars, to shape your face.