Analysis can kill the sense of mystery

WHEN I HEARD THE LEARN'D ASTRONOMER

When I heard the learn'd astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired, and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.


 Walt Whitman, 1865

 

Night is a Time to Ponder

Night Pondering


Why do I wait till night to think about the day?
In the silent stillness,
my thoughts swirl like a storm
in my mind.
I think about what I did
and what I could have done better.
Crickets chirp outside my window.
I look outside at the stars,
connect to some mystery…



Why do I wait till night to ponder the day?
I try to predict my actions,
what tomorrow will bring
but I realize I cannot control the future
nor can I change the past.
I must be content with now,
with chirping crickets and starry heaven,
trying to connect to some mystery…



Why do I wait till night to ponder the spent day?
Saying my prayers, I close my eyes and know
I will repeat my ways tomorrow.
I will return to my bed,
hear the crickets chirp
and consider the stars,
trying to connect to some mystery…

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.


--Ethan Seevers (Grade 11)