And Lifted Up
If poets and composers failed to come,
Then who would write the hymns for Venus, Mars,
And Jupiter? Our race would be a numb
Excuse for souls. If none could look at stars
Through telescopes, or build an altar, then
Existing would become a blankness. Build
The altars. Write the melodies. Be men,
Not beasts. Hear holy space and music filled
With words of Zarathustra, Milton, Blake
And David—and be human. Let God pour
His fire from heaven. Altars cannot slake
His flaming thirst. All deities want more.
If no one makes the sacrifices high
On hills, we fail. We raise and write and sigh.