A world bequeathed to us
In the breaking sounds of softness
Sighs from the weight
Of lost innocence and souls,
Mourning the loss of her lineage of love
In our desire for riches and more,
Grows weary of the heaviness of us.
The tonnage of our selfishness
Swirls in her oceans,
Fouls her air,
Tears apart her mantle.
In anger,
Her sky weeps,
Her winds whip up her seas–
All to wipe the weight of us
From her face, her body.
Thus, the earth we bequeath.
Dreams came,
Dancing for a time
While arrogance grew.
We were better, best–
With nothing left to prove
Glorious above any others–
God’s chosen led by the chosen one,
Or so they claimed
While people died in the streets.
We turned our fingers orange with Cheeto dust,
Stuffing our mouths,
And didn’t care who died.
It was all for our entertainment, anyway.
We watched democracy die
With Lady Liberty and Justice
Beaten bloody in the streets.
But hey, Walmart had toilet paper and Doritos–
And that’s what really mattered.
We screamed about white, black, blue
Red, and all the rainbow colors
Until our screams and colors bled
Into midnight blackness
Then the lights went out
When God’s Grace got up and left.
It does begin with whispers of wind,
Steady, slow rhythm of fattened rain drops.
The distant rumbles begin.
Then the slight, quick flashing starts.
Soon the wind howls.
The rain beats as if a beast
Against the windows.
The rumbles, the shouting of an angry God
At the petulant child of a world.
The flashing, the cracking whip
Of our forgotten master.
The downpour is here,
The sobbing of the forgotten,
The hated, the poor,
The ones we were to love.
No ark on this horizon is seen.
Originally posted in August of 2017. However, after driving from Dallas to Houston to take care of some business with having a home built and experiencing nearly deserted roads because of the lock downs and quarantines, I thought I’d touch it up a bit and post it again.
The seven descend.
Each with wings spread
Enough to fill a house.
Shalom not upon their tongues.
Throughout the compass points
They search to find
All the gnawed bones,
The muscles and sinew,
The heart and entrails
Torn with teeth of hate.
And once the seven
Found all the tiny bits,
With flaming swords
Used as needles,
They did try to stitch
All humanity’s bloody bits
Into one thing well knit.
Neither their swords,
Nor spirit of their breath
Did have the power to seal
The meat and sinew to bone.
And then they knew
Those who showed no mercy
Would be given none.
Their heads hung
Inshallah upon their lips
As they ascend.
Their flaming eyes
Weeping tears of fire
As they saw the pale rider
Striding across the land.
The seven knew humanity’s
Avarice and hate
Had broken the fourth seal.
Maa shaa’Allah a whisper of smoke
Within their throats.
Their flaming eyes
Still weeping tears of fire.
The captain of industry forgets his history
As a populous forgets all the tales of prophecy
While writhing in the seduction of lies.
Thus, all the best in humanity is left behind.
Water boarding, black sites, torture now promised.
Yes, the captain says to let the horseman ride.
The angry world forgets
The path of anger makes the “world blind.”
Yes, the captain says to let the horseman ride.
The sun dons a robe of sackcloth, grieving
The ocean’s rasping last breath,
As the moon’s face rained blood tears,
Turning rivers red.
Yes, the captain said to let the horseman ride.
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