The Ignis of the Idea
Ensnares the ears of the eager
enraptures the wide-eyes
of the impulsive, youthfully
indecisive. Invokes the impassioned
Gulls in flight,
Their scattered song, out of sync
With the sound of the waves
Their fatigued Wings,
Once enthused at the feeling of flight
find peace in their folly.
They circle the harbor, seeking a spot
to rest. To passively listen to the
laymen of the shipyard opine.
They've culled their truth from the farthest curves
of the globe, toward every horizon been
But have they gleamed, the beauty in the unseen
For which they once dreamed.
The riches that lay within ones self seeking?
The learned journeymen looks to the sky for direction.
When weary eyes narrow onto the map,
The charted stars soon become farther from the heart.
The sun sets on the horizon inside
All the brass rings, are brass bars
A birdcage made of brass
The brass which was once an instrument, has become a telescope.
That he may view what he perceives within his reach
In silence. While sitting.
Was he present for the dimming of the song?