XI Amor Prudentitatis

(The Love of Wisdom)
A summer spent in leisurely distress,
Teh windless heat burns down upon the soul,
No joy is full, all life is but a mess,
A mix of pointless passion, empty goals!
Then what- I hear a voice among the trees,
The silence broke by tremors of the sun!
I feel, to end the heat, a cooling breeze-
Which seeks to finish answers left undone!
I am a man, a thinker and a sage,
The world is matter geared to higher cause,
All life is beauty, sung from age to age,
All death does serve the Master's Holy Laws!
As daybreak floods the land with blazing light,
The silence ends with songs of wrong and right!
-Vir Cogitans Americanus
Scribit Dies II Septrembris, Anno Domini MMVII

The Temple of Wisdom

The orb within the sky doth shine its ray,
From God does come the root of every day.
Yet man does own his glory, also great,
Where such doth lie, a subject of debate.
Alas, the answer here in glory lies,
A beauty here, that riseth to the skies!
The word of gold sublime upon the stone,
Doth show the world the glory which we own!
Majestic columns stand to lift the sky,
They do support the majesty of time.
A land that rose upon the ancient truth,
A nation strong, imbibed such written truth.
They built a structure white and gold, sublime,
To hold the greatest riches of all time.
Its name doth speak so little of its grace,
Its majesty surrounds and fills its place-
No mask can hide the beauty lying here,
No word can match the glory or the fear.
Indeed in such a temple to the wise,
Its fall or loss, mankind would ere despise.
It holds the glory lost across the sea,
And speaks of greater glory soon to be.
As tall Minerva stands and holds the scroll,
The gold and white cascade upon the wall!
A sky so gold and brilliant roofs her head,
As man does worship her, though she is dead.
The light of knowledge holds a bitter dark,
As faith does flee, one builds another ark.
The glory held in majesty sublime
Does speak corruption in a newer time.
As Greece we worship knowledge, Rome, the games,
Yet still we are so blind to their last days.
Corruption lies in wait to end our might,
And still destruction lies beyond our sight!
Our faith, the very cornerstone of life-
Decays and rusts away upon our strife.
The life not worth a cause is not sublime,
The loss of glory doth corrupt the mind.
This building stands so white in majesty-
It sayeth naught of those whose lives are free!
Too free to see the glory known in death,
Too wise for wisdom, lost in fear of death.
This rock now stands, to bring a faith in thought,
And yet, it is destroyed, its gold for naught!
The glory here speaks well upon our prize,
A freedom linked with wisdom in our eyes!
A goal for those who do not fear the end,
But rather search for where, their life, to send!
Here stands the temple for the wisest man,
Whose life is bent, to find what ere he can,
To find the glory lost in newer time,
To see and speak new beauty unto rhyme.
His day will come, a time so blessed to see,
Then he as I, to glory bows the knee.
-Viennarising
-June 19,2006

VII Pretium Estne?

(Does Worth Exist?)
To live, perchance to - live, Aye, there's the rub,
To die, perchance to - die, what lies in that?
Who life is worth your own, which is your club?
Whose death is worth your death, Nay, All is flat!
What substance lies in greatness? Statues fall.
What honor lies in ruches? What is gold?
What wisdom lies in love? All lovers fall!
For what then shall we live, as we grow old?
What honor lies in wisdom, victory?
What glory lies in courage, mindless whim?
For what does shallow life forever plea?
What mustic does compose its silent hymn?
A purpose must exist, the concept does...
One virtue on its own is not enough.
-Vir Cogitans Americanus
Scribit Dies XVIII Iunii, Anno Domini MMVII

158 Sleep

Oh sleep, thou art a boon for weary souls!
Oh dreams, thou art repose for weary minds!
In slumber lies the healer of the holes,
In dreaming dies distress of many kinds!
The misery of life does grow with age,
The tapestry of wisdom, pain displays-
And yet in hallowed sleep is peace the sage,
Repose so greatly deep- it ne'er decays!
Yet life does hold a boon- sweet victory!
It leadeth to the tomb, but to a gold,
For aged life, with Wisdom's industry,
Holds naught of strife, but joyous songs of old!
So sleep in loss, in misery of pain-
But live to cross beyond this happy feign!
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O'Neil)
Written March 27, 2007

157 The Partnership

Man longs to know the secrets of the world,
The hidden flow of breezes o’er the earth,
The mystery of death and netherworld,
The gold of living breath, all living’s worth.
To find the secret here, he turns to “laws,”
To thought’s ungainly sphere he does seclude,
He postulates, examines, finds his flaws,
His mind creates new laws, however crude.
Thus knowledge grows, and recreates itself,
Man ever knows much more than once he did,
And yet without a goal, this has no wealth,
As Man without a soul is just an id.
The knowledge by itself is not enough,
Bereft of Wisdom’s wealth it’s naught but fluff.
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written March 26, 2007

153 Man’s Dilemma

The beast and Gentleman ne’er end the strife,
The animal, again, does long for flesh,
Philosopher e’er pines for higher life,
It is not her, but Her, who is the best!
Mankind is close to choosing Perfect Will,
Her golden robes are ever just in sight,
And just as Wisdom’s Truth is closer still,
Mankind, in foolish youth, dismisses light!
To serve, our deepest fear and greatest goal,
Does draw so ever near, and we withdraw,
When Wisdom moves into our deepest soul,
We flee in droves, uncertain- what a flaw!
Full self-control is ever what we yearn,
Yet “freedom’s” goal is e’er to Wisdom spurn!
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written March 13, 2007

151 The Prayer

Oh Lord of Hosts- I ask too many things!
I wish for most of ev’ry great idea-
I ask for wisdom’s song, it ever sings!
I ask for death of wrong- for Glory dear!
Unveil the horrid mask- that thwarts my quest!
‘Tis this alone I ask- the greatest gold-
I wish to know what goal is ever best-
‘Tis wisdom, though- to know the highest gold!
I pine for her- the answerer sublime!
She is the cure of ignorance and fool-
She’ll tell me what to seek, beyond all time-
For her, I do beseech, the grandest tool!
Yet wisdom on her own is not fulfilled-
Give Righteous will its throne, and ill is killed!
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written March 4, 2007

148 The Nature of Man

Oh mind, thou art a bastion for the truth,
O soul, thou art the metaphysic geist-
The corpse, not perfect, even in the youth,
Does ever wish, of virtue such, the heist!
The body knows it holdeth little gold,
A beauty, yes, but only to the eye,
And time destroys the beauty of the old,
The curse of man is ever that we die.
The mind and soul may yet be quite pristine-
And yet, when unfulfilled they are a void,
Their beauty lies in golden wisdom’s gleam,
On Earth their treasure cannot be destroyed!
And thus is man, he is of parts composed-
Philosopher and beast, in him exposed.
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written February 27, 2007

146 Joy

Some say to eat and drink, and to be gay-
And yet I ever think of the divine,
That truth which passes, in a mocking way,
The “happy” masses in their mocking shrine!
The gaiety that comes in mocking form
Is misery when pondered deeply, lo-
If to their “happiness” one does conform,
He finds an emptiness bereft of soul!
Yet if he does diverge to seek the truth,
His spirit will emerge to self-destroy-
This gaiety is known to ag’d as “youth”-
Sobriety fulfilled is drunken joy.
And so I say to ponder deep, enjoy-
The disarray of sloth’s deceitful ploy!
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written February 19, 2007

145 The Childish Wisdom

The simple beauty flies across the breeze-
The yearning child tries to understand,
His searching soul is ever unappeased-
For insight whole comes not upon demand.
The child asks the questions without end,
The greatest task is his to undertake-
He longs, the universe to comprehend,
And knows what is a curse, mind unawake.
The modern man awaits his learning whole-
He banks upon the fates to understand,
“Experience,” not wisdom, is his goal-
To dance the dance, and not find greater land.
Thus children know to seek the greater goal,
While elder souls have lost the seeking soul.
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written February 18, 2007

142 The Timely Death

Old Nietzche wrote upon the timely death,
His prophet spoke of those who die too young-
Yet some so very late, draw final breath,
Their souls too long did wait to sing the song!
The young do focus deep upon the Earth,
They haven’t time to weep their broken song-
Yet soon they know full well the depth of worth,
Yet never show, for they are “far too young.”
In hand and hand the virtue comes with vice-
True knowledge grand does walk with love of Earth,
For just as one may learn the best advice,
His soul begins to yearn to flee from worth.
The link with Earth grows hard and taut with age-
Comes fear with final card, not wisest sage.
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written February 7, 2007

124 Thus Spake Zarathustra

The time is yet to come when man is great,
And what he shall become none here can say,
For man is young, in this his great debate,
The glories sung are ever few today.
For happiness, mankind is ever numb,
Magnificence is seldom on his lips,
The fruits of wisdom’s gold appeal to some,
The seekers grow too old, potential drips.
In end the treasured bliss is too content,
The purposed one dismisses self pursuit,
But wisdom stays, it is man’s best intent,
All else decays, but wisdom isn’t moot.
The superman, as Zarathustra spoke,
His time began as wisdom’s silence broke.
© Jerusalemrising
Written December 26, 2006

118 The Threefold Caste

Some see in hollow earth a beaut’eous light,
They bury all their worth beneath the sands,
And yet when time, a monster, shows its might,
Their broken rhyme is lost to fleeting glance.
Where such see worth, the most do find despair,
They search the earth, for balm to quell their pain,
Their lives as well are lost, with joyous air,
Which tells the deathly cost of happy feign.
The last of broken man do hold his hope,
The wise unwanted man is ere the sage,
He searches not for happiness to cope,
Nor revels, caught by riches of the age.
Instead the wise will woo that maiden truth,
When purpose cries, comes glory to the sleuth.
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O'Neil)
Written December 19, 2006

117 The Ancient Wisdom

Why question ye, the path assigned to man?
The majesty, both simple and benign.
The ancient pattern set was not began,
To kill the love, beget a darker time.
So many years ago, the wise decreed,
The system dead and cold in modern time,
Yet now is clear, ‘twas not done out of greed,
And neither beer, as it did speak a rhyme.
The modesty enflamed forbidden love,
The majesty arose the passion true,
The family was pure, as is a dove,
And man and wife, unbroken, could renew.
The system now decayed was not a curse,
With love and glory flayed, ‘tis now much worse.
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written December 18, 2006