Oh Wisdom, where have you gone? Why have you abandoned me? Your voice I long to hear yet silence greets my straining ear. Your words so soft, as gentle as a breeze, have gone silent within the roar of the raging wind.
I have raced to the tops of mountains in hopes of finding you there. I have waded into the deepest valleys in hopes of seeing you. I walked the city streets, searching in the alleys, peering down the wide avenues, traversed the canyons of concrete and steel. I raced to the tops of the tallest buildings and descended into the deepest subways. I searched the courtrooms for you. I looked in on the halls of the great ones, passing laws of the land. I went to the market and rummaged through every stall. I was at the Library, where I found a memory of you, but it faded like a wisp of smoke when a candle is put to rest. I even went to the cathedral in hopes you sat among the rows of pews, but there you were not. Even there the pews forgot.
Oh Wisdom! How I long to hear your voice! You spoke so often, whenever I needed you, you were there. Oh Wisdom! Your words you served me as my daily bread. I ate them, each bite bitter and hard to swallow, but in my belly, they turned to the sweetest honey to keep me through the day. What would I give for but a morsel today? A Kingdom I would give! A crown I would toss at your feet for what is a kingdom worth if it is absent of you? Without you a crown is too heavy for my head. I would bow under its weight. It would pin my head to the floor and in shame there I would lie for all my days.
Now I hunger. The worm turns inside of me, unsated, unsatisfied. No bread can placate him, no meat will stop his churning. Oh Wisdom! Where has thou gone?
I seek thee, upon each hill, across every plain, in the fields of plenty, and on the sands of desolation. In every village I stop, at every port I inquire. I darken the door of every farmhouse to manor in search of you. I wait at the gates to see if you will enter. I go to the well in the morning to see if you’ll be there. I overturn the merchant’s tables, prod the hay in the horse’s stalls, ascend the steps of temples, even have searched the grounds where we lay those to rest who pay their price for the Fall. Oh Wisdom, why do you hide yourself so?
Upon a hill I peer into the horizon as the sun breaks forth, in hopes to see you upon the new light. And there I see, distant but true, smoke streaming into the sky. I focus and see a great multitude has gathered. A celebration is about to start! Have they found you? Are you there? I rush to the scene and make way through the revelry. So many people, so full of hope, so full of joy! You must be here! To the front I make my way, my heart bursting, with hope pouring out, my cup overflows!
Oh Wisdom! My heart is bursting! My eyes, they overflow. The tears shield me from full view of what I see. You are here, here tied upon a tree. What have they done? My God, my God, what have we done? There you are, your shame in view, arms lashed with chains to a post, set aflame. “Let her burn,” they scream. “Her words burned our hearts, and now we burn hers,” they cheer. Oh Wisdom, misery has taken me. I cannot look but look I must. I see what can’t be unseen. I see the tears boil off your cheeks. I see your beautiful lips crack in the heat. I see you look at me. I see your sorrow; I feel every fiber of your being. You cry for them that turn from you, even now. Even now.
Oh Wisdom. In the cool of the next morning all that remains are the ashes of our sin. Gone from us is your council. Away is your guidance. The party is long over. The embers have gone cold. I know not what to do but to mourn you. I feel like I shall mourn forever more. What joy can be found now? What happiness will come? I will mourn with your ashes. I fall before the pit of your despair and bow my head into the heap. I will pour your ashes upon my head. I will rent my clothes in anguish. I will fast in repentance. Here I will remain until they carry me away.
Upon my knees, head upon the ground, I hear you. Oh Wisdom, your words, they whisper to me from beyond. What tricks my mind plays? But no, not the words of the past do you speak but words of things yet to come. Should I tell them? No! I will lock them in my heart. I will cherish them for myself. No. I will tell them. As you ask, I will.
Wisdom has passed. She taught you upon her knee when you were young. She told you stories to help you sleep. She guided you as you grew. She forgot you not, even when you had no time for her. She was always there, lighting the path before you so you would not fall. But like a rabid animal you turned on her. You snuffed out her light because it exposed your deeds. You shunned her words because your heart was hard. You laughed at her council and spat upon her teachings. You banished her from your thinking, and in the end, outlawed her very words. You found her guilty of false crimes and burned her like a witch. You rejoiced at her pain. You celebrated her passing. But do not think her mercy is endless, no, that is for another. Wisdom is a Phoenix. From the ashes she will rise and no longer will she suffer your indignation. With flame you banished her, but with flame she will return, and her fire will be never ceasing.
Oh Wisdom, I beg, remember me.
--2019
The Fourth Watch 