I.
The Plea

Dearest philosopher, circling your gaze round the sun
Grow you not weary?
In celestial bodies of constant revolution and esoteric motivation your passions lie
Invisible to your yearning eyes,
These things which are your blood be they not also your bane?
Grow you not bitter? Grow you not jaded or deranged?
Even now, hear the apothecary as he calls your name
He speaks, his voice in shambles, and says
"Come, oh dear philosopher!
Many jars have I gathered here, many substances contained
Infinite combinations are possible!
Tell me, friend, for you are my last and best of hope, how can I combine them to thwart the stalwart and unfeeling advance of death?"
And at this look you now to Heaven, dear philosopher?
What in the stars could move you to speak?
Grow you not sullen, defeated or weak?
Where comes your strength in your belief?
Listen now! For the mother is on the rooftop
And hear how she cries for your attention
"Oh dear philosopher, of your aid I am most in need!
For my only son has died, and indeed
My womb is bare as the rooms of my house
And so I beseech you,
My angel, my fate is for you to allow
How may I speak to my boy again?
With your help, may he yet live?"
Speak to her friend, but first speak now to me
Speak fast and speak true for time is short
I stand here on the edge of the Earth
And with these voices I raise my own
Dear philosopher, for my sins how may I atone?
My dear, dear philosopher
Tell me now and waste no breath
How can I make this life worthy of death?