In Westminster’s cave, where shadows creep, No guiding light, no truth runs deep. The forms of virtue, once held high, Now flicker faint as leaders lie.
Where is the soul to seek the Good? No philosopher-king, as Plato would. Sophists brawl, their words a snare, Chasing power, not truth to share.
The polis weeps for wisdom’s hand, Yet hollow hearts divide the land. No dialectic sparks the mind, No unity in truth we find.
Illusions dance on cavern walls, As puppet voices echo calls. None dare to climb the ascent steep, To free the soul from slumber deep.
O Westminster, your spirit wanes, Your guardians falter, bound by chains. Recall the Forms, eternal, clear, Lead with reason, banish fear.
In Plato’s gaze, your fault is plain: Without the Good, your rule’s in vain. Rise, break the shadows, seek the light, Or in the cave, you’ll dwell in night.