The Sanctum

Down the long hall is the Sanctum where the heavy thoughts are thunk,

Where our. cubbish gems are separated from the punk;

Where the destinies of nations are hung up and whipped in line,

Where the wily politician likes to worship at the shrine.

At the hall’s end is the Sanctum where we like, but dread to go,

Where the stately sign “Private” fills us with a sense of woe;

Where sometimes the sky is cloudy when we’ve “broken laws” for aye,

Where the sun is always shining if we keep the standard high.

O, the myst’ry of the Sanctum down the long and narrow hall!

Where the judge sits with his pencil swatting genius great and small;

How we tremble for the weakling, how we honor those who brave

All the elements of danger and their precious bodies save!

Tread you lightly by the Sanctum, don’t disturb its calm repose;

‘Tis the graveyard of the faulty, ‘tis the realm of joys and woes.

But we have a sense of safety underneath our quickened breath,

For if ‘twasn’t for the Sanctum we would write ourselves to death!

Oct. 1, ‘09

Saturday Oct. 2, ‘09