THE BARDS SCHOOL of THOUGHT

A Strange Tale
The Calling

Upon the hour of midnight the clock did strike and compound the moment with sheer anxiety and complexity unknown to men of the time.

As such and of such, the thing in question rose with no sound and lay to waist, all who darkened the doorway leading to the fulfillment of, and of, all such wisdom.

That light did shine, through mist and dim witted notions of yesterday, even though seethed in misdemeanor and discrepancy; it was to no avail, beyond such an extent, all were way laid and none were saved!

It pondered well upon the execution of duty and of the things that ought to be left unspoken.
Indeed, espousing the common factors of error manifold upon the plane in question and the trifling nit picking extensions of the most ignorant.

Which way?! Which way!? Should or could it follow? For caution must be exercised when taking in consideration of the why and wherefore art thou's of the fall.

If it were possible to comprehend the incomprehensible; would I hear the call?

And so to follow without pain or pleasure, merely the function of a systematic operation, perverted to the flavors' of the month and fickle in change and desire.

Onward! Onward I go and follow the calling; of which art, in all divine glory, did bend me to its will and rendered me useless to all else, other than to comply with its greatness.

Not you! Me! Silly! Move along quickly now for the bewitching hour is passed! At last, lost in broken glass, upon the impossible to achieve.

Thus the door remains and we this side of it. Unable to penetrate passed the cellar doors of spoken words.

Unable, still further, to hear the melody of wisdom sing to us through long forgotten pathways, once trodden by our ancestors.

Here in this lost cavern of self inflicted control and reservation, thought of the limitless is resigned to just a memory of what could have, what should have, what ought to have been decidedly Human in contact.

Yet whose heart mutters a flame? Distinguishable from the pounding roar of the never ending grinding machine, whose wheels tern only in error according to the scriptures laid down by our own inaccuracy.

Time has moved ever onward and has not stayed still for any man, no matter how deceived through power hungry ignorant and inaccurate ambition.

Why! Such numbers are not befitting the Man who is born of intelligence.

Ah yes! There is the cruxed of it all is it not? There the sublime!

A questionable windfall of whose heart still flames? Whose mind is untamed? Retaining forthwith its will and its whit and its' oh so rapturous a feeling of contentment. Of course! Of choice; when the many hear their calling!

On! On! Beyond the barriers of two way traffic! On! On! Passed laws well meant for yesterdays generations. But today! Yes today, we win! We grin! And hide the fact that we, know not, of what it is you speak!

Ah dear and humble me,I, we and thee! Off on our travels of ripe ecstasy, unfolding with every leaf on the wind! Pages and pages of rapturous applause exorcised with ambiguity and that which speaks not of an end, not of a fall for these things have no meaning when held in the lap of an intelligent being who, not knowing all, heeds the call and leaves his heart not wanting.

Fair thee well upon your journey of attainment but be aware. Tis dark of late and pallet stale from energy low and grinding, vile in composition where friendship holds no worth!

Hark! An echo! Passed from beyond the gate of recognition. Beyond good and evil, fading yet ever green, as is on screen, seen to be believed, relieved of duty pending.

For what is the meaning of just or unjust beyond the veil? I'll tell to thee a tale of a hem locked! Words to no avail!
Can you not see!
C all me.... So C Rt S.