“
Never did a book reveal such truths,
Why seek a name? It matters not;
The boundless found a shape and form
In sacrifice's sacred knot.
Oh see, what is possession's worth
If it knows not to offer its all?
Things pass away. Aid them in passing,
Lest life from a hidden crack should fall.
Forever, be the giver, not the taker.
The mule, the cow—all press their way
To where the king’s image, like a child,
Is sated, smiles, and softly lays.
His temple breathes unceasing calm,
He takes and takes, yet grants reprieve,
So gentle even, the princess's hand
Holds the papyrus bloom, but does not cleave.
Here, sacrifice’s paths are cut,
The Sunday rises, ungrasped by weeks.
Man and beast drag gains aside,
Unseen by gods, as profit speaks.
Though hard, commerce bends to will,
Earth cheapened, tamed by practiced skill,
But one who pays the ultimate price,
Surrenders all—they too are sacrificed.
”
”