“Rise up ye revenants of the dark,
From inside the cold tombs buried beneath
That petrified, frigid soil that’s not soil
As it was before winter blew its sinister breath
Upon the vibrant, fragile foliage that
Worshiped the sky and dotted the knolls,
Where refugees from winter’s assault
Take haste and come back to life again
To peek through the earth and
Stand up proudly before me, their master.
‘Tis I, summoning you
As I do each springtime,
Raising you from the dead,
When the grip of winter
Loses its potency,
As all tension tires as it must,
As it succumbs to the heat
And the mercy of Mother Nature.
I am the voice of the sun that
Commands you to take heed. It is so.”

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Robert L. Martin
over 2 years

Thanx Nelson. Thanx for helping me finish the poems. I've never heard of St Bernadette. Thanx for the history lesson.

Nelson D Reyes
over 2 years

The Sun-Mother Nature’s fire like Zeus thunderbolt that can shock the dead to life, a revenant. Like the season’s spring sprouting buds of life from seemingly dry empty tree.
This poem reminds me of the apparitions that appeared before St Bernadette, Our Lady of the Lourdes ghosts. The local folks feared that St Bernadette was seeing revenants, scared them to death!
Like spring poems. Like this one. Thanks Robert.

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