A poem by Fisher kel Tath. "And these things were never so preciousListen to the bird in its cage as it speaksIn a dying man's voice; when he is goneThe voice lives to greet and give emptyAssurances with random poignancyI do not know if I could live with thatIf I could armour myself as the inhuman beakOpens to a dead man's reminder, head cockedAs if channelling the ghost of the oneWho imagines an absence of sense, a vacuum awaitingThe cage is barred and nightly falls the shroudTo silence the commentary of impossible apostlesSpirit godlings and spanning abyss, impenetrable cloudBetween the living and the dead, the here and the goneWhere no bridge can smooth the passage of painAnd these things were never so preciousListening to the bird as it speaks and it speaksAnd it speaks, the one who ha