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.