VIII Bellum Tacitum

(The Silent War)
Oh, when and where have men of virtue gone?
Their footsteps died away an age ago,
We strain to hear their noble fading song,
While rising up the banner of its foe.
That noblest excuse for lechery-
The artistry and pleasure of the base
Does ever hail that grand debauchery,
The beauty that is shallow in its haste.
Pale art is not alone in its attempt,
Cruel science holds its standard higher still.
The works of Man do ever seem unkept,
And power over nature boosts his will.
The artistry and virtue are at war,
Indulgence and the gloried days of yore.
-Vir Cogitans Americanus
Scribit dies XXVII Iunii, Anno Domini MMVII

144 The Scourge of Time

A silent night digresses into dark,
The evening light portrays a shallow mist,
My ever-searching soul does now depart,
My longing to be whole is now dismissed.
I hear in darkened wood a quiet sound-
The ancient voices good entrance the soul,
They tell a tale of ancient time renowned,
And free a wail for desp’rate worldly woe!
The majesty of ancient songs agone,
The tapestry of man is incomplete.
Not only have we lost the early dawn,
But dusk of man, his last, we’ll never meet.
Alas the scourge of time attacks the soul-
A wish for deeper rhyme to yield the whole!
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written February 12, 2007

143 The Golden Death

Men cannot see the worth of many things,
Through misery he learns his discipline,
Injustice brings his will to conquer kings,
The Golden Death does kill to make divine!
For ever-lasting life on Earth is dull,
The ever-present strife sets each apart,
For no two men do share a life in full,
The time you spend is your eternal art.
What death imparts is human social worth,
When each departs, a part of Man is lost,
Thus Man must spread himself upon the Earth,
To share his single wealth a’fore ‘tis lost.
The individual is only great,
If death is in its full his sure escape.
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written February 12, 2007

133 The Second Temporal Enigma

The flaws of man are numerous indeed,
Since time began, he does lament his wrong,
And yet he looses more in such a deed,
His short temporal store will soon be gone.
The self is not the same from time to time
Now lion strong, now lame, time takes its toll,
Each moment lost does hold a part of him,
'Tis living's cost, a limit on the soul.
Yet man's a fool, he cannot know the whole,
So time's a tool, to teach his empty mind,
The past illuminates his seeking soul,
As nearing death degrades his growing find.
Is time an evil curse, a theif of wealth,
Is ignorance not worse than death itself?
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written on January 14, 2007

116 Eternal Life

The majesty mankind does ere possess
The victory we hold upon the earth,
Will fade as time declares our great distress,
And ever-present snares degrade its worth!
This loss is felt upon the heart of man,
In pain he knelt to question living’s worth,
To find a golden balm, the search began,
No answer came, no psalm to heal the Earth.
Above the trees is heard a silent call,
The great disease is broken in the mind,
For thoughts will never die, as bodies fall,
To others shall they fly, ‘tis you they find.
If one does seek in short to never die,
Then he must find his essence in the mind.
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
-December 17, 2006

108 The Loss of the Ages

Across the age, the changing wind of time,
The battles rage, at loss for truth or peace,
The carnal losses weigh on broken rhyme,
The war and strife will stay, and spread disease.
The pedestal of thought makes man divine,
The knowledge he has sought explains the trees,
And yet the word for all this thought divine,
Cannot be heard, and yields the great disease.
For knowledge vast is nothing if not shared,
The learning cast aside when not passed on,
A melody of loss is thus procured,
The evils are the cost of learning gone.
As man does learn the truths of all the world,
They cannot ere be tools unless unfurled.
© Jerusalemrising
Written December 2, 2006

107 The Temporal Enigma

A spectral form, not simple or complex,
A raging storm and yet a silent sea,
The medium sustained, all things connects,
Its nature not attained, none ere shall see.
In cycles it repeats the changing tide,
A rhythm’s living beats yet all distinct,
As winter wind across the glen does glide,
And summer, pined, with present now is linked.
The constant known to all is truly change,
This contrast shown from moment to the next.
A tapestry results from constant change,
Connection thus results in minds perplexed.
The ghastly form of time will never cease
Dynamic, linking rhyme holds naught of peace.
© Jerusalemrising
Written November 27,2006