We do it wrong, being so majestical, To offer it the show of violence, For it is as the air invulnerable, And our vain blows malicious mockery.

This makes me think about majesty.
This ghost is so majestical and so
Is the roof fretted with golden fire
(in other words: heaven, the sky, the firmament)
Majesty has only ever been royal to me –
But suddenly I want to connect it to magic.
Magic, majestic, they cannot be far away
And also so close to mystical
As if magic and mystical got together and
Gave birth to a word.
In today’s common usage, I guess
We’d say majestic – without the “ical” part
And maybe we’ve lost something.
I’m enamored of a thing so majestical
That to show it violence is a great wrong.
That part of me, searching for the sacred,
Feels comforted by a thing that is shielded from violence.
I want to be shielded from violence myself.
I want the very sight of violence before me to be an affront somehow.
I want to be protected
To have the dark evils of the world
Kept out of my chamber,
Dismissed as a distasteful joke.

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