The spirit of the West, it is yours, friend, if you will fight for it,
Still there, imperishable, calling to the worthy
To abandon false comfort for higher pain.
Embrace your death before it embraces you,
For that which you miss is what really matters.
Parmenides sat down and wrote a poem,
An incantation in three parts,
Spiralling inwards, back into the darkness,
Plumbing the sounds and rhythms of being,
All oracles and riddles, hints and puns;
He had to describe for the world
His journey to the queen of the dead,
And what she had taught him
About truth and illusion.
All his life he remained a young man,
Invincible in hope and curiosity,
Sister to the unknown.
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