There it is.
Isn’t it the same as it was?
Fires loose, examine closely
divine wisdom; Homer’s telling lies
amore in eternam.

What it is isn’t what it seems
where it stays, the magic of commerce
forces unleashed, globally completing for our attentions.
Kinsmen and spears, and lion’s heads and skins
arrayed in pairs, warriors’ wins.
As the sun turns.

There’s a conspiracy here.
You can tell when the voices hush
if you love you must leave
and if you leave you must cry
the dawn of the age, the image of the gods
etched in our brows, sun-drenched and brown.
Where it went was lost too, like honor and originality.

Sow the wheat, mesh the corn into rows and hedges
Fine grained discussions with old men
ladies perfume themselves
tonight we dance and dine
we feast in love
tomorrow fires come
tomorrow people burn and wither
and words will die
as our hearts, lost to the dreams of our fathers.
Perhaps then.