The Student:
“How might one appeal?
How might one atone?
I have come to feel
That neither may be known.
Who can say forsooth
That he has been forgiven?
In searching for the Truth,
To madness he is driven!
Upon what divine alter
Must oneself be cast
In order not to faulter
And be redeemed at last?
Where does salvation lie?
How odd to so inquire;
For one could not know why
He ought to flee from fire.”
So went the scholar’s lecture
To his pupils in the hall;
For retort, one might conjecture,
They were void of wherewithal.
Yet one lone student bold
Stood swiftly to commence
An ill-considered scold
Of his teacher’s tall pretense.
“An error, sir,” he began,
“Forms foundation for your thought;
You find folly in the quest of Man
To seek what you see not.
How could one of intellect
So hastily assume
The absence of an Architect
Who has designed his room?
Though our homes and draftsmen vary,
The former in form and latter in name,
The latter agree we ought be wary,
For the former to flame all burn the same.”
The scholar, taken aback
By the audacity
Of his student’s attack
On his claims veracity,
Paused before he spoke
In response to his protester,
Laughing as though at a joke
Told by a witty jester.
“You speak with such conviction,
For that I count you brave.
Yet, you suffer an affliction:
You have yet to leave your cave.”
“If I may,” the student started
With no less confidence;
“You may not!” the scholar darted
From his lectern in defense.
“Another interruption
I shall not tolerate;
As I impart instruction,
Do not altercate.”
The student, somewhat wise,
Ceased argumentation.
Silence at times concession implies,
At others, contemplation.
“As I said,” began the scholar,
“Inferno is subjective;
The treasures of a pauper
A prince deems dull, defective.
This should be the basis
For all moralities:
Seek not some god’s oasis,
Embrace base banalities.”
“No!” exclaimed the student
To the horror of the rest;
Being impatiently prudent,
Wayward words he works to best.
“Your cynical refrain
Of utter disenchantment
Akin to screams of pain
On a battlefield encampment,
Brings to all with ears
And a humble, humane heart
Fear-inspired tears,
From weary eyes they part.
I beseech you, sir,
Consider my objections.
Do not our sorrows stir
With woeful soul infections.”
The hall’s air hung haunted,
Silence starves audition.
The scholar, dumbstruck, daunted,
Declared, without contrition,
“Quiet, you fool!
Take your leave at once!
Elsewhere may you sling your gruel
You call ‘the Truth,’ you dunce!”
– William E. Godwin
About the Poet-
William E. Godwin is from USA, an undergraduate at the University of North Carolina at Pembroke, where he is studying philosophy and religion with a concentration in ethics.
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