Sounds in Alba

Daily, they say Repent (as if they were somehow sinners),
They say Remain and every Argonaut in magic potential must keep
themselves from the sea,

They say hodie Phoebus natus est, the necessary and sufficent
condition,
With his pale shimmering presence, unseen, but felt all over, they say
the Lord Informs,

Noise in Alba from the buffoon preaching naked except a
clout,
Spittle to the winds of Malachi Hoshea Leviticus, the minors, the
disregarded easily,

They say Compete, Evolve, and present themselves with laws,
They say Dissent, where only gossip pertains.

They say Learn, and there's more than a few Cassio’s taking instruction
directly from the kindergarten play,
The Othello's are drifting around ready for the curtain up,

Daily they say Listen, and the sound from Alba knocks them back into
their niche,
The sounds of Alba, the motors, the pumps, the turbines, the impellors,
The sounds, the silence,

The peal, the harmonic, the tonic solfa,
The harmonic and the harmony,
Children of Alba, hear of the olive trees and the palmerworm.

One albino day a year, they screech that Charity should be done,
They say Congregate, and their congruities become obvious and dwarfish,

They say Xenophobia and Beware Xenophobia, and (somehow) outlanders
are magnetically hauled in to be this exactly,

They say Construct, and God is every brick and the Rulers are the mortar,
They say Scandal, when the mourning husband blasts to Hell his wife, his
brother,

They say Freedom 'n Peace quickly enough to be one word,
And roll Modern among themselves often enough to be true.