The Bard’s Rewrite
A Scroll Unveiled from Time’s Long Chest
Hark! What light through yonder parchment breaks? ‘Tis a script of old, locked from mortal gaze, now burst anew upon the learned eye. Aye, the flood—the wrathful tide that swept the world in days of yore—hath found another voice, a tale untold by holy writ. From dusty tomb and scholar’s keep emerges this lost scroll, a whisper from the past that dares to speak where silence once reigned.
What hand did strike it from the sacred tome? What council, robed in wisdom’s guise, did cast it to oblivion? Herein lies the mystery, for this forbidden page speaks not as doth the canon, but doth weave another thread into the tapestry of time. It tells of waters wild, not merely as divine chastisement, but as the turning of an age—an upheaval not of wrath alone, but of forces unseen, unspoken.
A Tale Twice Told, Yet Ne’er the Same
Doth the flood not live in memory as a scourge, a cleansing hand upon a world corrupt? Aye, so doth the Book of Books declare. Yet this lost scripture sings another tune, a strain that bends the ear to wonder. It whispers of mortal failings, aye, but also of hidden knowledge, of truths scarce known to those who walked the earth beneath the storm-swept sky.
Noah, the chosen of the Almighty, stands yet as steadfast captain of his holy ark, but lo! This tale doth shape his voyage with shadows unmarked by the common tongue. Were there voices lost ‘neath the rolling surge that bore wisdom unknown? Did hands unseen shape the flood ere it came? These questions rise as mist upon the morning tide, vexing the hearts of those who seek the past.
The Quill and the Council: Who Shapes the Truth?
Think ye upon the keepers of the sacred word—those who did, in days gone by, strike pen to parchment and decree what shall be read and what shall be forgot. The power of the quill is no lesser than the sword, for it doth carve the mind as steel doth carve the flesh. What then, if truths were hidden, if tales were pruned as doth a gardener cull the wild vine?
The flood remains, unshaken in its terror, yet the telling now doth waver. What man, what woman, what seeker of truth shall take this scroll and weigh it against the old? Shall faith falter, or shall it stand, firm as the mountain ‘gainst the howling winds of time?
Thus, we stand, as did the mariner upon his ark, gazing upon the waters deep, wondering what lies beneath.
