Let’s say the barbarians have taken over,
And let’s say they’re burning everything,
And the only way to save the books—
All the sacred writings that breathe
Light and meaning into our dusty shells—
The only way to preserve that which
For all these years has preserved us
Is to illuminate it,
To construct a place,
A scriptorium where we sit each day
And read and paint with gold and silver,
In hopes that maybe the texts so adorned,
Shiny, exquisite, pleasing, mysterious,
Will be deemed valuable enough to save
By those who left their souls behind
To conquer for the sake of conquest.
Let’s say we awaken suddenly to find
The smoke is already billowing through
Our streets, and darkness is falling:
Find your holy place and take up
Your pen and brush, your gold leaf
And your silver dust, and now at once
Begin and do not cease, begin and
Do not cease, begin and do not cease.
