I'm waiting with certain trepidation Assured my reality Is in for something big.
The eleventh dimension Can't assuage my dread. There's something happening, As big as Dead.
The cellphone's our new Nativity, Destroying my old myths; Where's the white salamander hurrying, Spirits hoovering, aliens lurking, Hairy bipeds in the forests, Yetis in the snow. Nothing soon forthcoming. It all looks like Alberta.
I can't snap inside the sun, Nor freeze-frame a revolution; Or the moment one feels love; But truth is self-evident. And the facts are yet to come.
All the best stories, My life-changing beliefs, Need one still, a black and white will do; Til then, I'll suspend Disbelief, And sustain credence, Close to the dark room.
Then we'll be the Magi, Bowing, grovelling, Awed and surprised.
The Nativity: Poem by John Milton decrying the loss of his myths because of the birth of Jesus.