Poem of William Hermanns

                       The Intellect

 
I am a penitent sinner
in Franciscan garb.
I was a weak link
in the holy chain of providence,
a strong link
in the unholy chain of intellect.
Too long I drank the cup
filled with the elixir brewed by my ego.

Oh Intellect, with your lust of greed,
you thrive best when your servants bleed.

I woke up, slowly, but woke up.
Dawn flooded the dark maze of guilt,
lit up my self-awareness,
lit up the truth; ego use is soul abuse.

Oh Intellect, with your greed of lust,
your zeal is filled with death and dust.

Youth of the world: come, let us build
the man of infinite dimensions,
the cosmic man!
Let man of three dimensions rot,
to him is real what he can see and touch,
His senses constitute his life; the unseen not.

Come youth, stop the learned midwives
pulling the atom from the ego womb.
It is a still birth, filling with its smell
the nostrils of hell.
 
Youth let your conscience give you light
so you don't err through darkness
on the next plane of existence!
Providence is the landscape of your soul.
Greed is the inheritance of the ego.

Poor Intellect, when left alone,
you have the feeling of a stone.
You open the bomb filled hand at will —
The Cosmic Law is mightier still.

You spit in its face; think you're the Lord
Creation's justice, too, has a sword.
A thousand years are but a day.
Your children's future, vengeance will slay.

                            William Hermanns    [P267]