Death of Mystery

The sinewy machinations of man,
Lie bereft of reason.
Their paths entangled, they flounder on
In uncertain, incandescent twilight.
Hitherto unsure, now they are drawn
Like the moth to the flame, order emerges
In the guise of meaningful pursuits and goals
A brighter tomorrow, of progress and law.
Not of God, but man, and man alone
A delightfully blasphemous ideal,
One of vim, and vigour, and thorough transgression
Of all older ideals, left to ruin.

No value in those antiquitin concepts,
Leave them rot;
Away into obscurity they fly,
In the face of newer things;
Superstitious musings of mad encounters,
Of belief obscure and senses dismayed,
Now trampled underfoot;
Begone! Banished by the sterile tide,
Of humanity unleashed.

Gone are the harrows of age-old practice,
The trial and error of mankind’s demise,
The figurative worth
Of a timely achievement
Is weighed, measured,
Systematically hauled
Through wisdom’s crucible
And by the new way ended.

Ended, like all things
Of beauteous nature
Within imperfection lies
An odd sense of attraction,
A longing for the fertile, nonsensical ways
Of yesteryear, knowledge lost and shunned,
Sacrificed in favour of the new,
The bold, the sheen of the present
Aligns with revolting grace to herald
A new age of illuminated darkness.