20191214.0430

A shadow of the self I sought to be,
I lingered just outside the lambent halls and lounges
Walled in warm ivory. The world seemed distant;
I perceived myself privileged to participate,
A minor mind-worker, in making new knowing.
Bound to the basement of that aging bastion
That falters and fails now, falls into ruin,
Artillery's aiming point, altar-bound offering
To be sent as sacrifice to seekers of gold,
I held on and hoped on that the halls would open,
Free me to fellowship I fervently sought.
I deeded a decade and more to that doing,
Unseen and unheard more often than not
Unless opprobrium found me; not honored, my name,
But regarded badly, a bane and a curse.
My business is ended. The books may still beckon,
And I, happy, heed them, but no longer here
In uprighted ivory that age makes more brittle;
No ghost now, I go off to other glory.