by Edie Summers

Created on: December 22, 2008   Last Updated: February 10, 2009

revival

What is to be done when myths become obsolete,

When the face in water reflects mockery.

A cropping up of history into sequesteredness,

Where alibi becomes the truth but lacking tear in eye.

To seek the acclaimed reversal how rare it be.

The almost slipping through of belief into desolate, black eternity.

Annihilation or resurrection, the slope of the line,

The conviction of will, may it be or be it not.

The metaphor in bank, the rippling of the streams,

What parted with a voice was parted naturally.

The logging of the mind, the nervousness of trees,

The mystic leads us through the obvious, the feet.

What is left for all the troubadours to sing,

When all the world has loved is lost, in this dispirited place

What is sad, now doubly so,

To lose what was acquired grace.

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