Classic Poem

The Way of the Air

The way of the air is by clouds to speak
And by clouds to be silent.
The way of the air is a progress
From treachery to repentance.
The air is the freedom to hope.
You breathe your hopes,
And are glad, and live.
And there are clouds.
There are clouds which betray your hopes.
To whom? To your Conscience, which is not you.
And you are ashamed, and the clouds tear.
By the conscienceless air you live,
But by Conscience, your mouth's tight seal,
You die, you are what you are only.
The clouds are you, Conscience is not you.
Yet you make the clouds to tear and repent
For Conscience's sake, which is not you.
For first was the air, and last is Conscience.
And that which is last is, and that which was first is not.
First was freedom, and last is a tight seal.
The free word tears, but the sealed mouth is silenter.
The air opens your mouth, the clouds unshape it.
Conscience closes the mouth, but gives it back.
What is Conscience? It is Death —
In airless final love of which
You keep inviolate your voice
Against the clouds that steam in traitor whispers
Repentantly upon your mouth,
Aura of tattered hopes
Protesting as you dare not.