areopagitica

 

words in daylight uttered without least dread

have not the echo of the chilly dark

when into emptiness we might embark

look up right now and see the bird is sped

that bore the message and now in its stead

we’re left to kindle one remaining spark

this morning when the trees are bare and stark

knowing so many words were left unsaid

some might expect a choice but if we feign

not to give in but to attempt the height

would laugh to see us fail to reach the stars

rather they’d say the clouds will promise rain

a storm is coming and behind it night

yet here we stand on the green hill of mars

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