That which we surrender not
                                           too soon is taken from us;
                              a noble justice
                              tortured in blood,
                                           a life of freedom
                              consigned to void;
                                           the wisest sage
                              become a child.
 
 
     This is another watercolor skyscape.  A pair of angels (painted with oilcolor), one to the left and one to the right, each on its own cloud, float above the words.  Each is pouring a bowl of what appears to be blood or wine.  The foreground lightens in a flowing manner, suggesting that the reader may also be on a cloud.
    The first three lines are written in the black, gothic script.  They state a conclusion to a line of reasoning which is only alluded to in previous poems. The inferred reasoning is that to possess something without sharing is to possess nothing.  The value of a thing lies inherently in the act of giving it away.
     To exist only unto one's self is to not really exist at all.  To exist without the recognition of others is, in effect, not unlike being a figment of one's own imagination. This point of view is not necessarily altruistic.  It is merely an extension of the principles of free enterprise.  Principles of supply and demand which, because of advertising, the machinery of advertising and sometimes excessive opportunism, were in question by society in Tyldsley's later years, but very much a part of
his early life. 20
      A thing is valuable because other people want it.  Something is powerful because people make it so.  If, as this voice seems to assert, reality is but a reflection of ideas and ideas are subject for their impact to the views of others, then all one truly possesses is one's own life. This leads us back to the hopelessness of autonomy and the realization that life itself will be taken from us.
     The blue, cursive voice nods its assent in the next brief line.  It calls the previous view just and noble.  If such is the way of the world, then one gains from those around him and likewise returns all that gain to the common pool of humanity.
     The red script rebuts this optimistic viewpoint by reminding the previous voice of both the bloody struggles of men seeking control of each other and the anguish of spending a life in futile battle against fate and mortality.
     The blue script responds that this is the struggle for freedom.  From such a struggle, one gains strength from which all benefit.  Freedom breeds originality and progress.
      Freedom breeds pariahs, answers the red script.  Free thinkers live on the fringe of society on mountain tops.  It takes generations to assimilate their ideas, a luxury a fast- moving world can ill afford. Freedom means nothing until it is surrendered for commitment to an idea, a person or a thing.  Action is taken by people commited to a purpose.
    The last two lines of the poem are by the black, gothic script and echo the first three lines.  The wisest sage becomes a child.  It is often said that the more one knows, the more questions one has yet to answer. Materialistic wisdom is short lived, for new technology, senility and death are always on the horizon.
 

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