The Mythic
This is the hard sense of it
The mythic falls apart
No Bojangle character in the story
The postmodern drama
Unfolds a new tragedy
I can hardly believe this was so deliberate
Yet no one saw the plunge into realism
Would do this
Would do this
And do it again deeper and deeper
Excoriating us
But in the sense of a morbid murderer
Bludgeoning to death our faith
Behind the concrete dimensions of space-time
Did they not understand
Did they not even think about it
For something else in us must have snapped
Before we took the stage and flopped
O it does not matter to you I see
You just like your poetry clean like a child's diaper
I just want the bond to hold between the child and I
This society will not know peace alone by that though
Man must believe in what he cannot see
To conform to the rigors of authority
Or else what else
Can coerce the sundering of individual will
If the mythic is dead
Should I tell them
That without the mythic we are dead
There is so much and so little
Realism can do for us
I think the modern focus is the debit's
Excessive show of losing habit
It is how we cipher even the spiritual
When nothing is left after
The mythic is dead.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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