To Uncle Clive
“At my first coming into the world I had been (implicitly) warned never to trust a Papist, and at my first coming into the English Faculty (explicitly) never to trust a philologist. Tolkien was both” – C. S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy
You stubborn fool!
You biased fool!
Why did you not see?
Why could you not open your eyes an inch?
All that was needed was an inch.
A light, beautiful light, such beauty,
Would have reflected off of your eyes,
Maybe this light would have swollen, engulfing your face
(such a kind face, a gentle face)
Why did you not listen to the Wiseman?
Why did you turn away?
Why did you ignore Strider and his fellow Writer;
Or why did you snub them in that club?
Bias killed you, Uncle.
It was the bias, the Bias
Damnable Bias that led to your doom.
Damned Bias, Damned prejudice.
Why did you not accept his hand?
Why did you refuse his love?
His holy hand, that spiller of beauty,
That hand of metaphors?
Those there like him believed so similar
To you, my Uncle
Why hate the beloved Faith
Holy Faith, held dear by the Writer
A Papist? John? Yes!
You couldn’t be one too, like him?
“No!” You cried, so loudly still.
Damn Papists
For your life, sweet Uncle,
Has become a tragedy.
You life sad, a song, moaned by a lion.
Why could you not embrace your lion,
That awesome creation, or the world he made?
Why didn’t myth begin and your lying fantasy end?
Why, oh Uncle, Why.
Like Cicero before you
You reached close to your goal,
But the goal stayed far off,
For you held back.
Your yourself said you had to dive,
But you would not dive in.
So close you were to that ultimate goal,
Yet the Papist threat was too great.
Why, oh Uncle, Why.
Matthew B. Rose