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[Ephemeron]

I wander through each chartered street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of order, marks of law.

In every pendulum's tireless swing,
In every whirling clockwork gear,
In every voice, in every thing,
The God-forged harmony I hear.

How the Chimney-sweeper's sigh
Prevents the shining Church's collapse;
And how the Soldier's battlecry
Redraws in blood the Nation's maps.

But most through midnight streets I hear
How the Railway Guardian's shout
Dispels each traveller's worst fear,
And guides the Sun along its route.

-Gabriel Syme, "A Cheap Plastic William Blake Imitation".

@темы: Габриэль Сайм

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[Ephemeron]

MAKE YOUR OWN SKY

For centuries, humankind has toiled thanklessly in a colorless world beneath the uncaring grey sky. Yet nothing lasts forever. With this set, you can paint a sky of your own, anywhere, at any time. The ancient power of the Sky Makers is now in your hands, and the world will never be the same again.

This set contains:
- The Paintbrush of Destiny.
- Paint pots* that contain three colors of Fate: Pristine White, Nocturnal Black and Cerulean Dream.
- Templates of celestial objects to build your own constellation and star systems.
- An instruction manual written by mad poet Gabriel Syme.

Around you the world seems alive and moving
But all its colors are washed-out and bleak.
Does this grayness come from the empty sky,
Or from the hollow hearts of mortal men?
It matters not. Grayness is now all.
Reigning above as below.
Look, then, within this magic box
And find three colors waiting
Like snakes coiled in the undergrowth
For the touch of destiny’s paintbrush.

The first paint pot is filled
With innocent promises
And sweet forgiveness.
Like a roiling cloud of fog
Or a beam of purest moonlight
It promises to hide all the world’s flaws
And cloak any multitude of sins.
Those who heed these enticing whispers
Find out just how true they turned out to be
As the shroud of Pristine White covers all
And binds the sky and everything beneath it
In eternal and uncaring winter’s grasp.

Another paint pot in the box lies
Curved and even, polished smooth and fine.
So inviting and open.
Not until you dip the brush in this pot
Will you see that it is filled with fear and malice.
Like a hungry abyss, it gazes deep
Into the hearts and souls of those who would open it.
Those who would paint with it the face of the Moon
Shall find themselves painting her dark side instead;
Its whispers will only lead them to madness and despair.
Those who would fill the sky with stars
Will find it littered with gateways into the eternal void.
Those who seek to draw the Sun’s image
Shall instead create a Black Hole
That pulls in and destroy all who draw near.
But the most wicked fate await those
Who would paint the entire sky with this color.
For once Nocturnal Black holds sway
The monstrous tribes will walk by day
With no fear of the solar ray.

So forsake the easy choices
Of neglect on the one side
Despair on the other.
Turn aside and paint a sky of your own.
Use your wits, unsheathe the paintbrush of dreams
Trust not in the light or the night, but in your own might
You will not be given a future, but may then win it yet.
Do it, and choose the Cerulean Dream
The Cerulean Dream is wisdom.