Ruins From the Past . . .

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September is upon us, I hardly saw it coming
This month then marks three years spent at this table blogging
Seems like yesterday the first tentative steps were taken
Upon this path, this trail, this road, this highway, this byway
I had no great expectations of causing any sensation
It was simply a way to break a bond of silence
To throw open a door and unleash a minor flood
Of photographs, thoughts, and poems penned in blood
That were languishing forgotten in drawers and books
Hiding in dark corners where no one ever looked
Who can say if this time is worth the trouble
A few kindred souls have found their way to this place
Since the doors to mr. toad's trove were thrown open
That alone is good, but then where to from here
Shall we continue this late night typing yet another year ?
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What does it take to unlock the potential for transmission
From one mouth to another's ear and so on and so forth
Until the chain of mouth to ear has spanned the earth ?
Where is the key to open a rusted lock ?
Are some locks better left unopened ?
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If we could open the locks and open the doors
Could we ever get back to places we remember from long before
Where children played in the street under grandpa's watchful eye
Narrow streets with cobbled stones lined by stone houses
Where magic lanterns hang to light the evening shadows
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Could we ever return to our ancient farms of piled stones ?
Where a cow waiting to be milked softly lowed
And a fire in the hearth quietly burned
Life had other rhythms then, music from another age
I'm not certain we could even hear it any more
For we have turned a page.

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Would we even know how to build a stone house like this today ?
Or would it be but a pale imitation ?
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Is it too late to resurrect the ruins from our past ?
Is there anyone alive who would want to ?
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