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.
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