To another era I travel

In pursuit of all principle.

Who knows what will unravel

When finally, I reach the temple,

Where all purpose is encapsulated

In its dome of the all meaningful.

The last frontiers, now contaminated

From happenings, in the last life, full.

Hopefully, before I’m obliterated

I’ll contain what’s worth being.

Now I visit the razor whipping through of organdy and flesh,

For the glory and gift of a lily hand, in lace,

That so sweetly and benignly sops up the red sweat, cut hot and fresh,

As anxious fields immerse their visions on the floundered, who’ll face,

Having his head dropped off to the cold and icy grass floor.

Losing deplorably to both worlds, in disgrace,

Leaving only one to taste her tingling tongue - dessert for the survivor,

And glad he would be, for safer moments could now replace,

While the loser will never ascend from his meadowed coffin, to savor

What the hero would, that evening: a raised goblet to drink the night.

To still another era I travel

In pursuit of all principle.

Who knows what will unravel

When finally, I reach the temple,

Where all purpose is encapsulated

In its dome of the all meaningful.

The last frontiers, now contaminated

From happenings, in the last life, full.

Hopefully, before I’m obliterated

I’ll contain what’s worth being.