this is for memory.

This is for memory…

The Sybil, walks stooped and 

hunched and brittle and strong

like a tight wire,

her will bent on her task

Amidst the rubble and the folly she mourns . . . 

. . . So much wasted 

This happens always, this 

i must know, this 

old as dirt.

It racks and rends 

haunting the whole world.

And still Topsy Turvy 

laughs as it 

rises on the horizon

Never ending

And bringing a new dawn

Each and every day.