Lost In Translation

When philosopher kings transcribe their dreams.
They often wax lyrical in unknown tongues.
Thus, sweet melodies can sound like stark shrieks
And a droning nothingness to those among
Us who, from crude convention, have not been freed;
And who view Creation through a narrow lens.
The same is true for poets. For the mind sees,
And hears, what eyes and ears cannot. The essence
Of things is beyond the senses' rusted tools.
To hint at aspects of eternal design,
Is perhaps the best that we poets can do.
In current times, they're too many garish signs,
And not enough compelling symbols; to guide
Us towards greater realms of pellucid light.