It is true, as someone has said, that in
A world without heaven all is farewell.
Whether you wave your hand or not,
It is farewell, and if no tears come to your eyes
It is still farewell, and if you pretend not to notice,
Hating what passes, it is still farewell.
“Not all those who wander are lost”- J.R.R. Tolkien
In a description hollowed out of hollow-bright,
The artificer of subjects still half night.
It matters, because everything we say
Of the past is description without place, a cast
Of the imagination, made in sounds;
And because what we say of the future must portend,
Be alive with its own seemings, seeming to be
Like rubies reddened by rubies reddening.