The Precarious Progression of Knowledge

Tick tick tick.
This is our modern education.
Who, when, where, what are we doing here?
The teachers of old—
Wise elders, storytellers, the divine achievers of some degree of enlightenment, an outgrowth of their perspective and the understanding there of.
These teachers nourished a fragile mysticism of humanity,
A secret for those who talk about talking, think about thinking.
Through the ages we have so cleverly and ostentatiously classified,
These ambiguous purveyors of wisdom have
Managed to preserve this whisper of enlightenment, of understanding, of peace.

Now we suckle at the dawn of a new great paradox:
As our cache of knowledge grows in its efficiency and entirety,
Our traditional understanding, the quiet yet binding commandment passed down inherently through the generations,
Slips away.
The violent eruptions of mass struggle and success
Have left some lost individuals fumbling blindly for a chance at understanding,
Wandering through a chaotic modern world,
Like tattered outsiders fulfilling a legacy, trying to reach the horizon.

But this is not the end.
We may only be pawns, but we choose our own moves.
Winning does seem oppressively impossible.
However our potential chance at victory,
The blanket of peace that still begs to cradle us in its bosom,
Within the shell that will leave us bereft of our securities…
This promise will drive us to the glory of a brighter sanctuary
For generations to come…

Hopefully…