The tome of the past;
Is sometimes written as a symphony, though in a key;
Long forgotten and buried under the gathered silt;
Of progress, of war, of the sheer brutality of time;
Year Zero often comes subtly;
When the sun emerges from below dew-drenched hills;
And things are not quite what they were before;
A new age is not always proclaimed by a revolutionary;
To thunderous applause;
Nations are not always told of their golden age;
Or informed of their collapse;
When the academics unearth my time;
What great men will be moulded?;
What villains will be cast?
And what role will I play in this;
Production of three acts?
Unspoken Politics 