Consider words, with all their fragile might;
their holy beauty stirs the memory;
like “Evangelistarum”: emery
for cutting gems that vex the golden light.
Think, soul, how this pure, flowing sound has graced
the page: a crystal-clear and airy word,
that hovers in the firmament; unheard,
for its antiquity, not forged in haste.
But though unused, its lustre lives for ‘ere,
like Gandalf’s “Istari”, the noble seers
of wisdom; they whose understanding ears,
whose ragged clothes, disguised how they were fair.
And more, “Vangelis”, singing of the moon
and sky and distant oceans lapping shores;
or simply “stars”, to which we often soar,
among their billion friends, where hopes are strewn.
This image had no conflict that’s resolved;
it’s happy just to be a thought, evolved.


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