The Rubaiyat of Idris until he got bored

REJ:- Are you bored yet? -

Idris:- No -

REJ:- Dammo -

Idris:-

Wake! The Golden Prophet of the skies
Has yawned and closed a billion blinking eyes
The ashen moon its sickle-harvest done
As night-owl flown in fright from lovers' sighs

The Phoenix tore a feather from the Sun
And master fletcher Time His arrow won
Through hourglass curves the golden bow let fly
And melting now and then the wax begun

Upon a marble 'cross the blanket high
In circles straight around the curving sky
The figures waxed upon the setting stage
And moulded lines of thought to wonder why

Said one 'My friends 'tis clear how this must be
The stage and play was set for such as we
My legs the perfect length to reach the ground,
The ground the perfect length to reach the sea'

Another drunk in love with Art opined
'I see the hand of genius behind
The palette mixed to wholly fill the view
Such perfect feasts on which my eyes have dined'

A third was cut to play as Newton's fool
And thought he saw the light-show heaven's rule
'By dot to dot I draw upon the sky
And line by line draws back the winding spool'

REJ:- How about now? -

Idris:- Not yet -

But Fate and Fortune for the record breaks
As Destiny with light for dicing shakes
Upon the wheel the marble drops to rest
And one by one the House wins back the stakes

'Tis all a shadow show of light and dark
With candles flickering smooth to make the Ark
And creatures conjured on a circling sea
A faery play upon a faery park

The conjurer is hid in cloak of fire
Around the magic lantern of desire
The candle smooth projecting from within
The smoke and glass-reflecting rising higher

Old Omar on the page of Samarkand
In silk words robed by fair Fitzgerald's hand
In glory bathed among the naked threads
Unwoven then rewove in candle heads

The minarets called djinn to holy prayer
By magic lamp in mosaic written there
And lit the marble mirror chandelier
The metaphor enow for life of air

For magic words magician be desired
But magic never has a wand required
And genie prayer for metaphysics true
Will answer physics never need inspired

The writer having plucked the Phoenix quill
With golden pen may write the world at will
True scripture makes one glad to Timeless die
The Sentence in four letters coloured still

REJ:- If you're bored, change the rhyme scheme -

Idris:-

What wouldst thou write, O candle god
Upon a newborn page?
What wouldst thou write, as Sentence melts
And actors merge with stage?
What wouldst thou will, the Fire of Life
Still burns, thy will be done!
- The Phoenix cries quicksilver tears
Upon the setting Sun -
What willst thou true, immortal flame?
Of heaven or of hell
The Time is nigh, the arrow flies!
To strike the quivering knell
What - *clunk!* *Ooof!* -

REJ:- Sioned! Idris has been bored again! On the sofa -

Sioned:- Put him out with the recycling -

REJ:- But it's not bin day 'til -

Sioned:- I meant the poem.