The evening calls, for a
Gentle set. Amidst bright clouds,
And midnight’s whispers; Beckoning
The gentle descent – of glorious
Day; One mask set down, for the
Don of another; Upon dusk
Was It donned, and thus, until
Dawn shall It be held.
Held in the Heavens : the
Abode of its Wearer; the
Forge of it’s Smith: the
Throne to it’s Master – where
he forges, not masks alone, but
The fate of it’s wearers. Where
He fashions their will; their want;
Their need – Upon tired anvils; tuned to
The immortal chisel : they rise and
Bend; heat and fall; Freeze
And still.
Upon it’s completion – achievement
Of task – He proceeds to assess :
As is, the arrest of
Procedure. By feel and notion,
Through practiced intuition : He comes
To appraise it’s wealth, and not
It’s price; for He makes not to
Sell; He toils not to gain; these are
Objects only in Another’s
Sight : not His. To Him – these
Are Himself; For what He
Makes, are what He
Makes : of Himself.
And so He sets it upon the
Ground; Knowing whence It
Became; Hence, what It
Becomes; Knowing by It’s birth,
It’s destined end. He sets It
Upon It’s infant wisdom: to learn; to
Exist- He set’s It down, watching
Until It stills; And before It’s
Acknowledgement of His presence;
His skill : His focus is, once
Again – strained, upon the
Anvil.
