The Orator Summons the Arms

it is addressed thusly:
A vision
it reads:
The dreams last long in these coming days
Each sound a song more distant making
Our life more sleep, more full of haze
Of time we keep before waking?
Thin, thin are they, these boundaries
Made for our way, for our keeping
A paper-wall's thickness; but a breeze
Could put them all to slowly creeping

There is nothing in them I mean
They are thin like plastic wrapping
Suffocating, the sealed have been
Contained and Spring is napping
In that time and space it alone is free
To be many days and then yet later
No twenty-first, we soon will see
At worst we are made its waiter;

We must prepare before the time
And so prepare before preparation
Each boundary is more than a line
A space between each station
Still we cram it all within the room
We make the wall but thinner
And thin it is, though silence loom
Did it bring us closer together?

This soundless morn is not in peace
No brazen horn to sound its coming
A silence from when breath does cease
A dream of death is humming, is humming
Is this the sound the piper plays
At last come round for every dime?
Awake then souls and fill this place
Before it tolls, the time of time.

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