At_Last

"Ancient princes felled and gone Caches of sashes to ashes, thrown Empty toils on sterile soils. Sum of nothing, Currents of glory, Abridged,

Haughty sway, Eclat alleged, Just dredge Tossed to salted sands, Unseemly Untimely

Unknowing. Ungrowing.

Of fertile impulse, Artists drawing On vaults of skies As tempests Spawned of dreams in ink and alabaster. Heart's mosaics, Masters. Plasters - never slighted Vintage - never blighted." Then, suddenly, these phantoms stalled Earthy voice, of duty, called. Tone of habit Strained of shock "Gavin! Go! Attend thy flock!" As would archangel Michael's missive Weaken, Grounded, Unexpounded?

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