Unwriting My Poems (Villanelle)

Turning back the ancient, cracked hands of time,
ending deadly wars before they are waged.
I will unwrite my poems, line by line

as a Saint rises from a sacred shrine,
with freedom found, void of her holy cage.
Turning back the ancient, cracked hands of time

like a used book that has regained its spine,
lifting flat letters from a yellowed page.
I will unwrite my poems, line by line

as tarnished brass regains its brilliant shine
and gold gains glitter and value with age.
Turning back the ancient, cracked hands of time,

renewing a verse that has lost its rhyme,
told by a blind, old Seer, a Roman
sage.
I will unwrite my poems, line by line,

while thick words, I can no longer define
slide and stumble across an empty stage…
Turning back the ancient, cracked hands of time, 
I will unwrite my poems, line by line.

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