A hundred voices shifting in a crowd
Speak words that buzz like broken TV screens
And punctuate the air with jagged beams;
Ideas that never mattered ring too loud.
While stony feet traverse on tired threads
And slamming doors are felt from floors beneath-
As though the ground were gnashing at its teeth-
The silent bird is filled with nameless dread.
I fear the static wears upon your ears,
For you keep losing track of measured sand
Because you cannot see the Keeper's hand
And always dash the glass walls of your fears.
I know you've seen the Gardener's work in bloom
But will you trust in seeds beneath the ice
Though seasons without spring have marked you twice
And earth may seem like nothing but a tomb?
True, the world is cluttered with surprise;
Amid kaleidoscopes of shifting things,
The future's held by watchful diamond eyes.
Can you hear the brush of holy wings?
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