Will they sing skywise away the sanctified cellars,
piled deep beneath blessed bottles, holy casks,
not bound by hallowed death memory
not kept biting at eternal cold nothing,
the end of ends all darkness all around?
Will they spring, leap just as one, lives
not of blackness piled on darkness,
invisible still, so bitter none the wiser, awful quietude,
the overcome by cobwebbed time roll on,
piles of ivory built to scaffold bright heavens,
stacked just crossed and neatly tucked down
to ground in the machine that turns us round?
Listen hard for their hymn, their choir again, given wing,
those gone beyond bemoaned bones of consecrated ones.
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Today’s word is
Use it in a piece of writing, then post and link to me, or leave it in the comments below. I would love to read your writing : )