[to those who fight (who fought) for poetry alone]
oh what compatriots should stand
beside you in the vanished land
that comes and goes from God's right hand
where striving to be tapped on the shoulder
as the main attraction swallows everything.
wish it all away, if you still can
before they steal the last rags
from the last ragtag bag you own
by virtue of not yet disappearing.
and those who have come before are useful when
they serve to introduce a point and then
consigned to the slush pile of history
mysterious still, unwavering
in a barred yet golden attic.
and every game of lets pretend begins
again o vanished saints from
a grasping world:
those who cared for Beauty more
than their own lives.
starved in the glass they come and go
emblems of a vanished snow
that melted here so long ago
under the crunch of the boots of
the recognized
the up and coming.
mary angela douglas 7 october 2014
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