Locus iste - This is the place where apathy must fail

This is the place of broken dreams
Elaborate hopings unravel at the seams
This is the place where all turns black and curls to dust
Where glittering objects will fall prey to rust

It is in this place that squirming baby lies are fed
on the milk of truth and kindness. And hope, like blood, is shed.
It is right here, in this place, where the noise curves to quiet.
Where ghosts wander the streets searching for theirepithet
And it is here that I will find a single thread to weave hope again,
like Persephone,
I will weave and weave and weave
and raise my flag defiant on the craggy hill top .
Though the flag be as a flickering flame, it will be mine.
And I will never stop weaving.
I will yet raise my flag defiant to the winds of change, of life , and of destiny