Inscribed

Silently slipping into

the stilled labyrinths of sagacity,

tethered to the bell that rings

with the lore of acumen’s chimes,

unable to discern the dulcet tones of wisdom’s wind

when it blows beyond the boundaries

where slumber is the comatose mind

blissfully reclining in the shadows

of ivory towers in tradition’s looming legacy.

 

Dreams fracture a disciple’s puppet peace,

the parroted perspicacity presses its phrases

as retrospection’s soliloquy in rehearsed cerebral sermons.

 

Academia’s ageless phantoms

wander as wisps within the eve,

they moan their murmurs of metaphysical messages

beneath the gossamer tent of circumspection’s canvas.

 

In that delicate shelter of mentally inscribed reality,

you still hear the rumble of thunder

outside the layers of invoked illumination,

snuggled into that philosophical cocoon

while only seeing the gems of designated tomes

ever suffering the spasms of intuition

over the atrophy is intellectual fitness.