Litmus IX (the theft of fire)

to M. to K.

At worst, one is in motion; a man is escaping the cutting of cuffs
All too near to his bones – the singing of steel as it rustles in flint,
He remains unrepentant; word takes to stone in an urgent attempt
To shake free, wake unmistakingly from this ordeal, this revealing.
The myth of returning to always same place, sometimes less painful,
A status of hero too bold to be careful, too young to know better,
Too proud to be burned. Alone in his mountain he thinks he preferred
Having suffered to living in dusk; gods and their generous gift given
First in disgust, quickly turned to mistrusting; sparse and sustaining
A world in its shoulds, Mankind by its musts, one hand in its will
To bring fire where it would, light where it’s filling a map of the void.
Quiet, where need is; and talking to the point – blue, red and union
As seen in the rebellion of three against the tide, scale to brush all
Doubt aside and claim that we deserved it. At any given time alikes
Will meet, occasion teach them: whatever night has wished daylight
Won’t break.

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