"Do not think my penitential silence pride Or arrogant stubbornness. It is not. No, it is a consuming meditation That works in me when my mind considers 5 The subtle hurts that load my outcast state, And of how in past time my estimation Showered ignorant honors on my jailers, Gilding their crimes before their doing of them. But enough; of what your hearts know how should I speak? 10 Listen to mortal suffering,-- how I Spied them fumbling with their helpless wits, and helped. It is a tale briefly told. Not to scold Erring man, but to show how much his stature's grown. In their uncouncilled sight first spread vain webs 15 Of woven pride that gave far-seeing judgement Close cataracts, obscuring heinous crimes. And into their young hearing they had poured Not mellow summer songs gathered from the air, But stuffed deaf ears with brays of their own praises. 20 They were not men, but instead resembled The shapes we see in dreams, mingling all. To their burrowing lives I broke some light That had been darker else. Like timid ants They lived and ate, and kept house in foul caves. 25 Neither stars of winter nor the presaging scent Of springtime did they know by counting moons, Nor was laden summer by signs revealed. But every matter was pursued in ignorance, Full of wrong causes, false heads and false tails, 30 Inverting logic until I came and gave Risen stars names and mapped their difficult settings. I ferreted out the art of numbers That put in the simple scope of man's discretion The control of nature, and lettered rude mouths 35 With speech that made but oohs and ahs before, giving thus Discursive memory its mothering talk That nursed the nine. By my gentle bough Beasts came lowing to the yoke and plow To perform with docile thanks hard labor 40 Men laid idly by. I made them love the rein Who move lordly chariots with prideful steps. And from the burning tongues of gods brought down Stolen fire All these fool's arts I made for man alone 45 Who can't glue together some salvation for himself. But when gods threat, saving devices perish And cleverness holds up stumps, not hands, to pluck This downcast body from its tortured state."
From the collection "XXX Sonnets"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.