The Apology

What would you say If after this time You reawakened this day Long out of reach, your prime? Would you still ride the horse of your forms Bequeathed by Poseidon forever to be Or from your eyes Would your reality emerge Amidst this positivist sea? Would it be theology you adorn Like most of the lepers strive to see Would you heal their eyes With a synthetic judgment A Kantian reprieve? Philosophy is deceased Or so many decree Encumbered in Zarathustra's sleep Like Jehovah into its blackened lungs The breath of life -- could you breathe? Would you still be the peripatetic mentor Of Dante's "the master of those that know" Or would you still wish to be the protege The protege of he with no letters to show? Would you defend your apology Of a traveling heretic A heretic for corrupting the young With the idea that politicians and beaurocrats Must abide by an inviolable ethical form A form of chivalry this day much unsung. And so this apology I must afford to you For allowing the Sophistry Of your age To come anew. Leaders still begin wars With the flower of youth Not their own Petals wilted and crushed Under the jackboots of those lacking The concept of God or father. Fear creates a protean enemy As sure as the incited mob's voice You witnessed at the ripe age of twenty-eight Snatched your second father And afforded him no easy choice. Justice is not easy Your life was about defining Something this day has been lost It's essence forgotten, always at a cost. After this apology Can we still have a hope That you could rescue this world Fill the holes and set it afloat. After all of the centuries Some forgotten Some abhorred Would you still be able to prove? That all of human thought and hope To you is indeed but a footnote?