Every Seventh is a Rest.
The Day after the Seventh Sevens, a Renewal.
These are the Sevens of Days and Years,
Of Time marked by the Sun and Earth.

The Sevens of Moons is a Recursion
Every Seventh, a Seven, and is Half a Time,
The Fullness thereof, a Twelve.
And every Seventh, a Sacrifice.

As words in a strange tongue
So symbols in wisdom;
Not any sounds are words
Nor stories, parables;
But angelic tongues do speak
Even as donkeys are wise.

The sixth day began bright,
Sun’s fire, on earth, lighted;
Prophecies trumpeted,
Brighter, hotter, fires burned.

Eight, but one, ancient, kings
Ruled the day; If agree,
All in their hearts shall be;
The stars, Man's destiny.

Why remember? Why celebrate?
The past, told by the victorious,
To the living, mere instruments.
Unknowable and unknown,
Ceremonialised and celebrated,
Of the dead's glorious renown,
If expedient, memorials mandated and revised.
Tomorrow you may uncover and reveal
My history was wrong, but who knows really,
For your discovery, or concealment,
is shaped to fit your purposes, as it is for me, today.