Goodbye, Heloise (or the Death of Reason), 1st draft

Goodbye, Heloise (or, the Death of Reason) 2017

 

The Renaissance has come and gone

And those savants whose minds, who’ve shown

fountains of wisdom and repose

And yet synthetic breeds disease,

The victory sickness, joy fatigue;

Stimulation numbness,

Too fragile for a breeze.

There once was an age of Reason

‘Till the death of Heloise

 

In her manor house at Laughter Hall

The world watched this sun Goddess fall,

And applause like filth clung to them all;

Unreasonable, it had not seemed,

When the dark age came

and reason heaved

its final sigh, only to die,

burned high in Effigy.

The age of reason spanned the years

That walked the Earth this goddess, here,

Whose setting roused the drowsy

And now she’s vilified

When Heloise fell, our reason died.

 

Hark! The herald cried, His Majesty, by God

Above the weak, above the meek,

The divine baboon trod.

Atop the poor above the rest;

In the latest fashion dressed.

While those looked on could only moan,

The cannon fired as down the crown

Came upon the Long Night’s brow

Making light the dark, and dark the light,

Savants are stumped, the King is right;

Submit yourself, prostrate, Akbar, akbar,

Praise the Neon Razamar.

 

Razamir, the clown deceives,

He offers gold, and repays greed,

With sicknesses of want, with need

The prophet motive bends their needs

The need for more it whips the back

Of Razamir and his bizarre

Bazar of idols and of cars

Mass produced, by workers scarred

To pay for the great crown’s caviar.

But in the tales, the Clown’s a djinn

Who split the Earth at Crete and Sindh

Razamir, who brought down Rome

By offering Augustus home,

As Heir to self-styled Caesar,

Hairy man with want of hair

Sacked Egypt and the culture died,

As Carthage had, as wealthy men

In royal robes with fancy pens

Wrote the law for common men

 

The phoenix died and long stayed low

Until the great Mahound arose

And the sword, blessed by Miraj

And Alakazam

The sword of light lit darkened lands

And numerals, The Taj Majal

The astrolabe,

The world revolves.

America, humans evolved

Heloise had come again.

 

A hundred years, too much to call,

The atom bomb and power-saw

Mass media and marathons,

Kennedy’s brains and Vietnam

The cowboy and the Desert Raj

The saxophonist and the sound,

Made when paper hits the ground,

And Heloise, whose brief rebirth

Had peaked between the promise

And declined with the curse

of the monkey sprang from Razamir’s purse.

 

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