On Boxing Up Works of Philosophy

The shelves are empty, but for remnants saved

I know not why. For years they sat enshrined

As - stones with which the path to Truth was paved?

A map of the trajectory of Mind?

The greatest minds, each treading virgin ground,

Their goal – to saturate the void with light!

Yet every search, its end in blackness bound,

Serves only to illuminate our plight.

Dreams, unfettered by Before, alone

Have power to command our enterprise.

Imagination – marrow of the bone! –

Potentiates what intellect decries.

Empty shelves. Fit cynosure at last

By which to chart a future from the past.