I can be a most serious transgression, or the number one rule. In church, I'm part of a college, but not a school. I never get lost, feathers striking as a jewel. To some I visit as the departed, even when the weather begins to cool.

I can run, but never walk. I have a mouth, but never talk. I have a bed, but never sleep. What am I?

A celestial being from which I birth Of great distance from planet Earth Gas and debris from what I’m made A great eye, a horse, a crab I display

Some say I hold things steady Or I'm lightning from the blue I'm also fabric, rolled and ready And I'll dash away from you

Born in fire from powdered stones, A fragile sheet from Gaia's bones. Smooth of surface, rather hard - will cut deep with a broken shard. This stuff sounds difficult to view: you don't look at it, you look through.