Phebus! called out the voices!

Heaps upon his hands raised the books

that silenced the soul more often than

the red wine he packed and kept in inn

and would drought only when needed

a toast to the cirque of twigs wound around

the head of gargoyle, a sepulchral  soul

he was!


And now needed a drum to voice the silence

as untold by his lithe limbs that moved according

to the text in the books- he was mastering the mime

and now drew a peg of enchantment with blue water

that though colorless is full of colors that he watched

in hallucination.


He was the third master of a kind

the other two were boys he kept

to clean the cabin as he would woo

the enchanting shadows of the lantern

hung only to keep the light gleaming

when the sun abandoned the sky only

to reappear when the dead waters

recoiled with life. He must now retire

as he lit the lantern and felt the torch

of the liberty being careened in the hands

of the raving voices!




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