Something different this time--a piece from about 20 years ago:
The mind’s a dusty chalkboard on which the’logians write
They stand before, pushing and smudging chalkdust to the
sides
And taking the chalk they leave their thoughts
Splitting atoms of doctrine more finely than what was done
before
And writing on, their chalk grips the slate stronger more
and more
The chalkdust enters the air cloying the tender nostrils
Of those whose fate it is to stare at the figures writing
and to decipher
The minute logic and philosophic upon that great gray board.
The mind’s a dusty chalkboard on which the’logians write
To die unknown ‘tis their central fright
Their voice unheard by their generation and peers
So they think they have to say something new--never heard
before
Thus they smudge the chalk of their betters’ labors
To write new dogma more stranger and stranger
Till their immortal souls have come into the danger
Of the eternal fire for many are the souls who go astray
From reading as the the’logians write away.
The mind’s a dusty chalkboard on which the’logians write
They seek philosophy and astronomy, psychology and biology
To wrap as their theology
Never realizing that Revelation is not found in human
thought
Nor ideas, nor systems, nor in debates fought
Revelation is not upon that dusty chalkboard captured
How does one write for the eyes to see
What the Word is sounding for ears to hear without recourse
To the old gray slate.
Do little flecks of calcium multiplied upon thousands
And millions and billions once wrote by the Hand of God
In carbon make sense when human flesh endlessly rearranges
them?
Yet, still, the mind’s a dusty chalkboard on which
the’logians write.
