Fifth in a series called “Under the Gray Rainbow”, Oz characters in depth. This is the Wizard.
There they go again,
Fearsome echoes of his daily maneuvers
Their resonance
Amplified by the stony chambers
Carrying him to heights
He never imagined
When empty windows held no terror.
He was born to travel
So currently he was dead, ensconced
Getting his rumors from the mice that inhabit his walls.
Cheering crowds, happy faces, bells and lights
Are no substitute
For books that he cannot read in a language long dead.
The semasiologicals are important,
For he is mighty within those pages.
Nineteenth century science
Is magic in a fifteenth century world.
Boiling smoke and purple plumed hats
Are the burning bush of ignorant masses.
Let them all dance
Gibbering in cheerful abandon,
For he knows the end is here
And they have learned nothing.
He copes with his monstrous shame
By not coping at all
Hiding away,
Head in the sand
At the top of the world.
Weaving refined prayers
To hide his secret shame
In glassine jars.
So many different jars.
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