Member-only story
Our endless, numbered days
Jul 3, 2021
Sackcloth on our backs,
ashes in our mouths,
wailing heard from north and south
Morning maniac music
shakes me awake
those who once brought hope
now mired in hate.
Over the mountains,
black clouds scud
a perverted vivacity
has entered the blood.
Refugees waiting,
knocking at your door,
seeking sanctuary
on a distant shore..
Christendom has fallen
collapsed from within,
deep, deep in the luxury of sin.
No crystal ball
Needed
No prescience
Heeded.
Iron enters the soul,
in a world
suddenly grown old.
