Upon the weathered stone engraved, time patiently endures,
Man, know thyself, with wisdoms hand are hewn these words secure.
In silence patiently they call, the heart illusion feigns,
True knowledge of the self is found within the soul that pains
Man would but grasp the morning star, religious ecstasy,
With iron will would death he rule, prince of eternity.
Yet all the while the silent voice, man’s poverty does call,
And freedom beckons to the heart, return from whence you fall.
Oh blindness cast upon his path, to grope with sightless eyes
He so devours the darkest night, whilst light he does despise,
And heart consumed, life’s ashes lie, before the pyre of fear
Thus to the mind he flees in dread, to hide from what is near.
While light did cast a shadow dull, of self upon the soul,
In sacrifice for it to die, to warm a blood run cold.
Yet images of indigence man falsifies with lies,
The ass’s rose he tramples fine, and wisdom so declines.
To war, to war, my brothers’ sins in blood I must efface,
For am I not the judge of men, God’s light on earth encased?
Oh fool of fools, you did not read the words upon the stone,
Man, know thyself, were not for him, but words for you alone.
