To the Teacher of the Ancient Way.
Who can make a song sing without crying?
Who can truly live life without dying?
Set and reproduce
the anatomy of the truth
And by the height of a tree, tell its root
What is the meaning when a thought leaves you stranded?
Am I the fork in the road or the one who planned it?
Is it better to boldly question or remain in wonder?
Shall my thoughts unite before you or fall asunder?
Was it not here
Where men and women stood on the shoulders of giants that they too might
become
Was it not here?
Where bright boys and girls emboldened to be distinguished
Soldiers. Carriers of twofold artillery.
A Pen and A Purpose.
Inhabitants of this place are required by the struggle of strange
fruit.
Rounds of soap whistle down and around hallway corners.
They know their targets well.
Diffidence is martyred here.
Lost kin realign
Sir, to me you are indeed a mystery
Electric to the water in a garden of youthful minds
Daring children to be stronger
Men and women to grow longer
The Scientist of great FAITH
Runner of the Great Race
Transcending the complex simplicity of real time
You are uniquely incomplete
Your imperfections divine
The ever-willing sufferer of intelligence
Tried, tested and reviewed for future relevance
Testament to the ideal
That the law of life is not to conceal, but to challenge
For truth is oftentimes revealed in the scavenge
We find that what makes one dare is the very reason one is here
Thus, to be painted as brave, one must first outline fear
So we honor you, Teacher,
Your notes and your armchair.
And until death is proven
,
Your matter lives on here.
