Heretics lost their way in the glare of divided philosophy.
While soaking up the rays protruding from their diluted progeny.
Individuality cursed the lot, a painful conclusion hardly sought.
A triptych constructed from passing sand, blown across mid-western land.
Panel one, a fools thought. Panel two, elongated plot.
Panel three, an outstretched hand. Collectively composing an image banned.
Words for the flock corrupt the soul.
Removed thought perched along a grassy knoll.
Heaven revoked all notions of vanity,
While tenderly clouding the wonders of individual sanity.