The Academics

Is it tenable to publish enemies?
Does it shape something ripe in the dark?
How does it make death meaningful?
By filling the mind with crushed ice?

                    Research withers and freezes
                Where the lily and lotus kiss.
            From the opals in the tidal pools
        Prisms break kristallnacht bliss.

    The lily pond stagnates in horror,
       As the lark sings mournfully,
           On the edge of night the shadows skate
             To classics scornfully.

It is purposeful to sleigh enemies.
It is just that they travel by dawn.
Listen to the lilt of the limpet
When the frost pours its blood on the lawn.

      Listen to the books they are burning . . .
                                 Smell the
         Crisp pages turning
   Face the
         False autumn churning.

Will the glory depart now?
Drop like academics from the bough?

Copyright 2005 by Robert E. Romanelli PhD