The Sanctuary and More

I sometimes wonder how the greats discovered and created the many nuggets of common knowledge and culture that are now everyday words to us. Surely all things need a cradle, some nurturing birthplace. Were these sanctuaries necessary to people who are now invulnerable to their peers, and to those historical figures now immortal?

I usually dislike free verse, for the fact that it is inconsistent, fragmented, and difficult to enjoy. However, that is a part of life and a part of this poem, and even sanctuaries may sometimes only be represented as such. This poem again sticks to the warmth and safety of home, and is therefore aptly entitled, “O Happy Sanctuary”.

O Happy Sanctuary

O happy sanctuary,
Scattered like seeds of a crop,
Yet fertile before their soils.

Although common as their job,
True sanctuary is rare.
A node of boughs seeking love.

Any man can be a king,
Should he possess the right throne,
And kings be but men without.

For appropriately perched,
Only do wise owls ponder,
And philosophers create.

Sanctuary’s small kingdom,
Where insects may be giants,
And masterpieces revealed.

Hours panning for fool’s art,
Leisure inexhaustible,
And gallery unending.

For thus does true art blossom,
With lightness of form and heart,
From primalities conducted.

The sanctuary, safe place,
Summarised within the spring,
So joyously moves the heart.

And thus do our angels bloom,
Philosophers, kings, saved men,
Humbled within our own home.

Bonus: This poem is doubly about the sanctuary of the porcelain throne, and is subtitled “Ode to a Commode“. Re-read it and I think you’ll find some far too modest analogies. Sorry!
Dedicated to a Master Bale of the Bigginhill, illuminator of such everyday taboos and my partner in misguidance.


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