The Lonely Esoteric

The Craft gather,

the spirit is up.

They share a meal,

they share a cup.

Camaraderie and fellowship

is everywhere,

yet the deeper meanings

are lost.

The gavel cracks on stone,

get to your seat.

The purging and Tileing

and opening greet.

The Wardens the Deacons

are doing their jobs,

but the words fall on

deaf ears.

We do what we do

'cause its always been done.

The ritual the language

for some are not fun.

But silently, the one who knows and learns

absorbs everything said and performed.

The Lonely Esoteric.

Everything has a reason

to most it's just lost..
Every sound, every motion
are friverously tossed
Round the secret closed room like
some silly old play without a
worthy director.

Was it ever understood,
or just simply hummed?
Like a familiar old tune
with words that were dumbed.
So that more could learn it and
spread it around and not even know
what they're singing.

Perhaps

Or maybe it's structure
was carefully decided.
To carefully conceal it
from ones we should hide it.
And gather stray seekers one spark at a time
who will see it
for what it is worth.

A strange ancient beacon
with knowledge just hidden.
For some small groups of men
to great things are always bidden
like a bird to a flower
that hides its sweet
nectar.

Then one after one
after disappointment and trial.
Gather themselves together
Regardless the mile,
of distance they traveled
and create a smoldering
fire.

Be not lonely esoteric,
just be patient and true.
For your comrades are waiting
to come and join you.
They are lost and wondering
and hungry for more learning and just need
a good place to gather.