Books of Light
Stop, and hear. Can your ear perceive
The sound of light shining about you and
Through your soul and body, silently, as the
Ocean crests the swaths of seas swaying?
No? Can you see at least the people
And the antics they draw upon the screens
Of tube and machine? Or do they too drift
Among us and alien, like the spirits of the sky?
Yet these marvels float about, and I raise
A mirror, a machine, or a shard, a shining phone,
As the looking-glass that will let me peer into their
Deaf and hidden world, so but only for a while.
Because I see indeed in these books of phantom
Light the whole chronicle of man: his genius
In the stylus that these texts writes, and
His stupidity in the things he chooses to write.
But from their garble come the poets, the men
Of vision who let these books fly across the world,
And unite their number, unhindered by the
Wastes of desert, or the coin they cannot get.
These, my God, I bless – for these write
A new annal, and a new chapter in
The adventures of man, and at last ordain
An order of freedom to present to You the gem of peace.
These, Lord, in Thy Mercy protect, for they venture
Upon the soundless seas of light that wash the
Planet, to make it worthier of Thy gaze –
They wander to catch the fish in new nets.
Their kernel increase, and let find the rare
Land that flies in the clouds, to weigh it down,
And bring to Earth a piece of Thy kingdom
To let the Earth its Easter wedding remember.