Nearly Rose

Almost did I attain a burst—
With my head nestled on the pad of my arms
Splayed upon my desk,
With light excluded—
A scuffle of thoughts—
Obligation laying siege to imagination—
And almost my soul rose to its feet to squire neglected duties—
But that this poem seized me
As my head attained to light
Then failed straightway—
Leaving nothing but the simple sadness
Of a poem built on human thought—
Leaving words restacked out of the rubble.

The poem aspired to be a brilliant response
To the quibbles on paradise of a fellow poet
Spoken in spleen
To smite and to still
And I found my response knowing better
But weighing heavily in argumentation
To lose its brilliance to a tarnish
Administered by the quick light.

I do not always fail.

Does truth always win?
In nature, yes.
In human debate it may lose
Just as Arius lost to Athanasius.

My courage serves in flights and flaggings,
Once driven to the questioning of that held sacred
With prayer pleading on the grounds of truth
With promise that I meant no disrespect
But that I had to know—Had to know.