by something only men should see.
It was this that sent him, muted,
back home to bed to safely be
sick at heart and hot with fever,
cursing that he dared to leave her
to quake at darkness while his keens
were heard by friends through painted screens.
Why do wrong? It only led him
to death, and he would like to swear
that he would not again go there,
easy as it was to bed him--
but he was just a boy who grew
and did not know what next to do.
~*~
Reading from an ancient poem,
I found inside it words I knew
from a new-bought book. I know them
too deeply not to chant them, too.
I must marvel at the mirror,
since I know the authors, nearer
to god than to each other, wrote
not knowing of the other's quote.
So is nothing new? Yet gladness
is found in knowing certain wrongs
are universal human songs.
And if I can sift this madness,
I may uncover from the Earth
the first true word, which gave us birth.
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