the philosopher's chair

the philosopher's chair





this is my work
you see,
hired help at university.
i shuffle papers in these racks
sorting this,
discarding that.


in attics and on basement floors
filing
and maintaining scores,
of dissertations new and old
from those who
pontificate the soul.


until one day i stumbled on
a corner
rarely looked upon.
for hidden there under a sheet
a chair of oak
carved in replete.


with scrolls and ornate diadems
i marveled at
what sort of men,
must have sat upon
this throne,
while teaching socrates to throngs.


of eager and inquiring youth
who long
to know the god's own truth.
about the world we
call our home,
what makes us long to
be reborn.


do we seek truth for knowledge's sake?
do we align our thoughts
to make,
a world in our own image gleaned
from intercourse of
the unseen?


but i am not the man
to know
the difference in plato, thoreau.
for i am here
to stack and clean
the thoughts of righteous and obscene.


who over
centuries of time
sat in a chair of oak refined.
and still
i hear the wanton cry out
in the halls as i
pass by.


of those who would reclaim this chair,
set
themselves up
a knowledge faire.
to claim to know the absolute,
by god
this is the god's own truth!


for still
the dust will gather here
upon all these who sit
in chairs.
seems i will never go unfed
as long as questions
go unwed.
with answers of these wanting minds
who clamber
for the thoughts divine,
of those whose buns heated this chair,
i best replace it's cover
there.


for still
i have much work to do
between basement and attic
stews
all these boys who would be men,
philosophers
with nice rear ends.


will need their chairs
to perch upon
and beat their chests to siren songs.
proclaiming their proclivities
never knowing:
they are gods to me!






© sjw 09/06/09 inspired at this very moment in time by the_death_of_achilles & gendo saved by christ.





from the 'beauty series' of poems




Stephen