I’ve been rereading a series called “Clockwork” by Cassandra Clare.
She begins every chapter with a poem snippet. One of the most moving was quoted from
“The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam”
Translated by Edward FitzGerald, 1859
But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays
Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Hither and thither moves, and checks and slays.
Omar knew the waters in which I swim.
I find this series is a written like poetry, and highly recommend.
I was inspired to write this.
Be harsh, I’ve thick skin, and high ambitions.
Angels are clockwork, Warlocks and Lycanthrope have their own beauty.
A girl named Tessa, a Jem with a Will,
Part of a perfect plot, it’s device infernal still.
But automatons, this continuum, our rhythm based upon
Player, to our game, where have ye gone
Invitation, this conjugation, is it unto thee
Move about, and do,
there is only death.
Director of Symphony
Angel or Devil, or Thee?
Questions, Answer, Art thou listening?
Pro-found profound knowledge in some little thing.
Forgive, spittle when the fountain sings.
Rain and flames, the ballad of us Mountain Kings.
influence, pesky leash
We may know peace
Lest, an unknown beast
Find the sacred in ruins,
It’s damned feast
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