Once a Paladin

Music: Fugue from the Fantasie and Fugue in d minor. By Max Reger. Sequenced by Sergei Winitzki at Kunst der Fuge. Subscribe to this site on Substack Subscribe to this site on YouTube Subscribe to this site on Medium

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Hear me read the poem as an MP3 file. Alpha List Philosophical Poems About This Site Poems for Free Copyright by Nicholas Gordon

Once a paladin Rode into mountains Seeking himself Among barren stones. He was a spring Covered by fountains, Or an immortal elf In a dungeon of bones. Long he rode weary Through high mountain passes And deep, lonely canyons Untouched by the sun. Long he rode dreary 'Mid snow-covered masses, His dreams for companions, And still he rode on. Yet he found nothing That matched his ambition To see himself naked Of what was not him: That singular something Beyond all condition, The soul he'd forsaken For life's daily din. He came on a hermit Praying in shadow, Unmoving for hours In the early spring cold; His hut near a summit In a high mountain meadow Covered with flowers, Red, white, and gold. Finally moving, He turned towards the paladin, Blank as a snowfield, Silent as space; The soul simply choosing To pass its brief time within, Steadfastly sealed Behind its locked face. "Good Sir," said the paladin, "Long have I wandered In search of the soul That somehow I lost. "My life has been sin, My brief moment squandered, Yet I would be whole Regardless of cost. "O holy man, Show me the truth Known to those few At being's bright core! "And, if you can, Yourself be the proof, For I would be you -- I ask nothing more." The hermit then opened His eyes wide as saucers. Behind them was emptiness, Nothing at all. Sheer nothingness beckoned Like death 'neath life's wonders, The absolute stillness That makes the flesh crawl. "O God!" shrieked the paladin, "Heaven, please save me!" And down from the mountains He fled on his steed; Back towards profusion, The commerce that daily Surrounds the great fountains That simple springs feed. Back, back to the world Of passion and plunder The paladin raced Away from that sight Of a self self-dissolved In the truth that lay under The truth -- just a taste Of the cold, waiting night. Nor did he ever Recover from seeing That vision of nothingness At being's heart. Alas! He could never Embrace his own being, And so performed graceless His pitiful part. Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.