The Dead Rise

Somewhere underneath,
life lies,
color long buried,
thought dead,
lost,
a history faintly remembered,
so distant,
a myth and no more,

except suddenly,
the earth shifts,
and the lost is exposed,
the dead rise,
a faint myth
suddenly vibrant,
as alive as Goya,
love rising like fire in the night.

About this poem.

As a kid, I always wanted to be an archeologist. I am still fascinated by the subject, and read on it often. The idea of bringing history to life again? It’s magic.

My friends know that I have had second chances in a life that has been broken, and restored. It’s a special kind of blessing, that restoration, and archeology of the heart, rediscovering the best of yourself. When you have been lost, and found again, you appreciate your joy in a special way. You never, ever, ever, take it for granted. You revel in it.

The picture was taken in Rome. Italy, more than anywhere I have traveled yet, sings to me.

Tom