A Poem About The Poet's Role In The Coming Age

I love so many things I'm dazed there is room enough in the world to house them all. And even when my frail memory forgets them, they reside in an asylum not of my making, until they reappear to stun me with their beauties, and yes to chide me for not holding them tightly. So there is a part of our mind which cherishes things we love, is ever ready to preserve them when we are too distracted, or too pampered, or too careless to give thanks in a litany of blessings. I sense something momentous is about to occur. Everything we have achieved has prepared us for it, but it will be insufficient. We will be summoned, we will be ushered into a new age of Poetry. The Voice of the New Muse: Daniel, why can't you be faithful to this simple truth: Your sacred remembrance overflows with wonders. Look, even now they accumulate! Don't blame Time for your forgetfulness. For eons poets have made Time the culprit for your shame. The Muse loves you mortal bards with such deep affection you have abandoned your obligations in the scheme of Time. Listen now! It is so easy for you to sing because the Muse has surrendered all of herself to you. Your voices can turn what is ugly into beauty, what is false into truth, what is evil into good. Listen now! There is nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so. That is, your pride and will be your downfall. Your present songs are insufficient for the Role of Poet that I, your new Muse, the one sent from the empyrean, have created for you. You will soon be amazed and enter a Future World, you will push aside a transparent veil and a new song, one uniting heights and depths, will be yours, and the singing of it will plunge you into those depths, then raise you into those heights. You will look back, puzzled by what you were; you will look forward, stunned by what you have become. Prepare yourselves.