There was a castle, proud and tall
With heavy doors and shadowed halls.
It stood through time, through wind and flame
Four voices came and called its name.
Franklin said, “Oh wasted days,
The idle hours just slipped away.
Use every breath to shape and strive
Tear down these walls, and come alive.”
Dostoevsky, with sorrowed grace,
“The light met void, and did not flee.
Through pain and doubt, the self is shown;
This glass held truth, yet broke alone.”
Peterson said, “This place is a mess.
These walls conceal the deep distress.
Stand, speak truth, and bear the load
Go forth and walk the dragon’s road.
Nietzsche laughed, his tone was dire:
“You serve dead truths and call it fire.
Break every chain, let falsehoods die
Become the flame that scorches lies.
Then came a carpenter, silent and near.
No name, no crown, no crowds to cheer.
With calloused hands and tools well-worn,
Nail-pierced palms, by sorrow torn.
The four bowed low, their wisdom done
They cried, yet knew, the work was one.
This parable is not in Galilee
Each piece He carved would one day be
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