Dancing Jinn In Nag Hammadi

Blind in the all-consuming mist without a trace of light Blind in the oven’s black smoke that makes all songs to Jesus seem hushed A woman grabbed some of the treasures given from the height In her worn hands, feeling the papyrus and straw being now crushed And threw them in the flickering fire to be their plight Though she feared preserving these written worlds would bring the jinn Jinn danced in wicked victory on the perishing, once green lands Simply dancing in circles as the night sky flames of sin As the songs of these lands became whispers above dead seas and sands And these whispers became nothing, without even a din What mysteries vanished into the air, taking their leave What pure prayers were never heard again, just left for time to bury Maybe the Gospel of Perfection, the Gospel of Eve Maybe the flawless hymns of Bardesanes, the Questions of Mary Our burning hearts will never know, but our souls will still grieve About how some manuscripts of the Nag Hammadi Library (discovered in 1945) were tragically burned to fuel a simple oven fire.