Bartholomew

Bartholomew, I do despair.
What will become of you?
Your staid regimented life
Needs all of the truths of old.
You cling to stagnant symbols,
For nothing is real,
Twixt the jagged lions claw
And the noose of responsibility.
But whilst the power of evasive memories
Does charge your spirit so to rise,
Then banish this sad soliloquy
To free your motivation from its guilt.
Then tomorrow, my dear friend,
I will pass this way once more,
And watch your progress with a smile,
For you were chosen once to rule the stars.