Too long beside this mortal soil.
Too near bewitched by an inconstant moon.
Too soon bemused by our own inventions.
Too easily besotted within the maelstrom.
Too totally beset by words, images, ideas.

Every virtue finds detractors.
Every evil seeks adherents.
Every notion yearns for notice.
Every institution breeds corruption.
Every ism becomes a commodity.

What is?
What means?
What matters?
What next?
What else?