Zoroaster Speaks with Lips Sewn Closed by Paradox
Another myth as founder of a faith,
Old Zoroaster comes to us through mists
As long as eons. He is like a wraith
More strange than countertenors with their wrists
Concealed in robes religion hides them in.
The prophet is a ghost who never lived
Or is so lost that it is like a sin,
Or almost, to imagine. He is sieved
Through stories made of mystery and wish.
This balance of the evil and the good,
His thinking represents a rainbow fish
Of glimmering colors with a mystic hood.
The ages hide him, he occluded from
Our certainties and blasphemously numb.
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