“Heraclitus” by Johannes Moreelse

My heart is weighed down at times
By things illegible to rhymes.

For when I think of those faded ages
When thought and life alike were covered in fresh mist,
The days distant yet known, days of arcane Greek sages

I lament, and consider Fate’s cruel twist:
Heraclitus and Parmenides survive in scattered verse—
While the laurel is thrust upon every pervert, boor, and feminist.

Flagrant filth is the “nobleness” of the diverse;
With minds like them how can we get worse?

Yet when I read those ancient lines and what lies behind,
What freshness, delight, and wisdom I find!

Postmoderns cannot cure our woes;
Hellas’ shadowed sages had not the Light, but they saw more right
Than bigots who get their morals from Jewish TV shows.

One day the proud will be cast from their height
To be seen nevermore, cast into an eternal storm of a fiery night.