poetry

Victor

vectorpaint

The tongues we speak are oh so subtle things

One jumps to the fore as another fades

Words and things are oft the property of

Authors, Kings and those who tease poetry

From the cruel alphabetical maw

A word is a word, true, but a verse is

another entity altogether

A verse on the page is worth its weight in

Condemnation and illumination

What is it then that Vicar Victor did?

He took the words of the father and turned

Them into declarations of the son

Such a simple and insidious thing

The betrayal of so noble a tongue

And the coronation of the vulgar

Pretender to her glories and fortune

Can the world be the same when the name

Of Χριστόςis turned blithely to Christus?

In the end Victor made a fool of Paul

When he wrote in the new holy language

And made unwitting converts of us all

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