Philosophy and poetry, unaware 
of kinship, each alone take to a den.
A thankless calling they follow
as much as an endless task.
Constant their desire is, not less than
the full destruction of cynicism.
Glory, if words could summon strength,
to all who fight the war that won't be won.

The professor's words ring loud
and proud of the universal.
The bard cannot abandon the unique
unadulterated individual.
It's in dissecting one we'll find 
all the clues we'll have of the other.
It's not Dr. Frankenstein grotesquely 
mix the lot but all of us lacking the wit

          Of philosopher, or poet.