The pages unite, they are forming their army.
They give up on their individual existence, too old to carry on.
So they sit in their glass case, forbidding larceny.
They sit idle, in their lovely parthenon.
Reds, blues, oranges bleed through the pages.
The pages wither, ripping at the seams.
Seams curved swiftly, from a man with far less wages,
Wages that don't reflect the perfection, down to the pages colored cream.
At Mass they sing, with glee and joy,
Religion pumping through their veins,
They stand majestically, like Helen of Troy,
The seal of Doge, of powerful reign,
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| A Church in Venice, much like San Domenico |
They sing with this book, in perfect harmony,
Resonating from this book, are the notes of a harmonium.
As if time is short, they sing with urgency,
But too scared to leave their perfect palladium.
The pages unite, they are forming their army.
They give up on their individual existence, too old to carry on.
So they sit in their glass case, forbidding larceny.
They sit idle, in their lovely parthenon.
Inspiration: The Gradual of San Domenico di Castello, is a musical book that I saw in an art exhibit on Venice, Italy. It was beautiful, so I decided to write a poem about it!
