ANCIENT JOURNAL 2 -----------------

Hymn to the Gieft Hand

How strange, the perfect balance
Between the honor of being chosen
And the terror of failing.
This perfection, both precise and beautiful
Like the Radiant Gieft itself
Steals my breath and turns my tongue to stone—
But I must speak.
The honor has been given, and
Like the Radiant Gieft itself
We cannot—must not—doubt it.
The oncoming wave rises, within and without
Drawing the manifold tides of uncertainty
Into a single question:
Why her?
Too young, too young, too—
But the honor has been given, and
Before the Radiant Gieft
This and every wave will turn to stone
Crumble, and fall away—
Like the old ways, the old questions
The old, imperfect vision of perfection
That bound us in the dark
Until the Radiant Gieft
Planted light within our very souls.
So I can speak
I must speak
Tomorrow, I will speak
As the great light goes to rest
And the lesser lights rush out, attending her departure
—how I used to love them!
I love them still, but now
As the harbingers of True Light
Preparing us, by their faint dance
To receive the Radiant Gieft
Then, in their silver glow
We will gather by the new valley
In reverence, in wonder
And all will stand in silence—
But I will speak.
I must speak
For the honor has been given
And I must maintain the balance
Lest the terror consume us all.
I will rise amidst my people
Borne up by the wave of their questions
Drawn to the True Light
And before the Radiant Gieft
Surely, my heart-speech will not falter:
Hail to the sky, which has given
To the ground, which has received
To our hands, which stretch between them
Uniting all in light.
We honor the past, which has prepared us
The present, which sustains us
The future, which awaits us
Enfolding all in light.
May our wonder never darken
May your glory never tarnish
With our song ever ascending
Awaking all to light.