Day's Apogee**

Fresh Hieroglyphs

 

-Only Love, Liberty, and Meaning Are Worth the Effort-

 

I hope that anyone who reads Pilgrim Heart is moved to reject neo-Marxist beliefs about aesthetics. “Political correctness” is primarily an implement of ideological intimidation, a contrivance used by malicious hypocrites to suppress the right to think. But art should not be about anything that advances the cause of tyranny: It should be about love, and love occurs only in the lives of those who are free to think for themselves.[1]

 

When Art is About Love,

It Speaks to Us in the Language

Of Eternity, Purpose, and Meaning.

 

When It Is Not About Love,

It Speaks to Us Only in the Language

Of Narcissism, Resentment, and Despair.

 

We should stand in awe of the things we create because once they are free of us, they are so much more compelling than the inner parvenu who thought to wear them as jewelry. Maybe they are things we had no business keeping to ourselves. They should astound us because they so confidently go their way without us �" Bolder, smarter, and more colorful than we could ever be. Therefore, let our words shimmer like fresh hieroglyphs, painted alive on the walls of an old sarcophagus. And let them not be vain images that weep of our brevity, but true portraits that reveal how every good life matters and should be remembered.

 

Day’s Apogee

 

-The First Lines of Rebirth-

 

Arriving Too Early

To Photograph the Birds

Or the Hamilton Fish Bridge,

I Admired a Statue of Columbus

And Looked Out Across the Hudson[2]

 

U

 

God never sketched a setting

Quite as touching as today,

 

In which the sun

Gives out his arms

Unto a waking bay

 

Some inland birds

With sleepy eyes

Are perched

Upon a pier

 

Above the peaceful waters

As a ferry boat grows near

 

A mist still hangs about the hills,

Though tenderly it shrinks

Into the far horizon

 

Where the past

In silence sinks

 

God never gave

A welcoming

 

As loving as this day

Unto an elder of the dawn

Who passed along the way

 

He never made

A kinder time,

 

A better place to be

A poet and the river’s son

Then this day’s apogee.[3]

 

-----

 

He Leadeth Me

Beside the Still Waters.

He Restoreth My Soul - Psalm 23