S a c r e d {Terza Versione}
Approaching the carved stone fountain
on a skin-toasting summers noon in Milan,
there's allurement for one to take both hands,
and immerse them beneath the fresh, cool ripple,
of the clear umbrella of decending liquid,
casting prismed rainbows off the Iris of the Sun.
Yet...in the center town squares of Italia,
where art is non-negotiabally sacred,
dipping hands in Borghese or Trevi
would be likened to the daring sacrelig-
of ensconcing ones' feet
in the Baptismal at Peter's Basilica.
Sacred be quite subjective, though-
Traditionalists tend to scoff at such notion;
not an odds-makers chance
to grade 'old school' mantra;
castes of olde-garde sage and stripped cultures,
still embrace the tarnished green copper
of that which once shone as bright gold,
rules that withstood times maverick stains,
and of which to those traditionalists,
are objective, indelible....'jacta alea est'!
And because so... these judgements of they
must be acknowledged, respected...the same,
And, the fact that opinion is deciding factor -
is a privelege, quite Sacred in itself.
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
Added by Poetry Lover
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