The captain of industry gleefully looks to history As a populous forgets all the tales of prophecy While writhing in the seduction of blame and lies.
Thus, all the best in humanity is left behind. Firing squads, internment camps, and torture now promised. Yes, the captain says to let the horsemen ride.
The angry populous forgets The path of anger makes the “world blind.” Yes, the captain says to let the horsemen 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 bellowed, “Let the horsemen ride.”
Spring threatens to melt into us.
Summer follows soon enough.
Birds will return, seeking seeds and worms,
Building nests for the young to come.
Will the birds remember the songs they sing?
Songs of summer, songs to mate?
Flowers will emerge, warming their petals
And leaves under a brilliant sun.
Will they remember how to open
Their blossoms?
Will they remember how to dress themselves
In glorious color?
How can the birds or flowers remember
When the world walks a tightrope
Over the abyss
And sunflowers may never grow again
Tall enough to bow their heavy heads to God?
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.
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