Turning Of Our World
© Surazeus
2016 12 31
No bells are ringing in the chilly night
where homeless refugees from brutal war
are huddled hungry in the bombed-out church
while fireworks explode in the empty sky
to celebrate the turning of our world.
No candles are glowing in roofless hall
where tables are not heaped with plates of food
and no sweet melodies from violins
vibrate with beating hearts at midnight hour
to celebrate the turning of our world.
No children gather at the giving tree,
no teens dance carefree at the party pool,
no lovers kiss in the light-flashing hall,
for all were burned to ash by flaming bombs
to celebrate the turning of our world.
The fallen sun god who gazed at the light
of ten thousand exploding nuclear bombs
walks empty highways sea to poisoned sea
and holds radioactive rain in burned hands
to celebrate the turning of our world.
Though blinded by the light of war for power,
he kneels in the meadow of broken skulls
and breathes on the last flower that may bloom
since all the honey bees crumbled to dust
to celebrate the turning of our world.
The girl who talks to ravens looks at me
through swirling cloud of smoke from blasting bombs
and tells me why the moon will weep tonight
then writes history of kings in bleeding runes
to celebrate the turning of our world.
Though millions of people will die in war
girls and boys will hold hands and kiss with love
and so regenerate new tribes of souls
who tend lush gardens on clean river shores
to celebrate the turning of our world.
We gather on the pyramid of eyes
and vote for who will play our tribal god
then first mother will give him sword of truth
so he can fight the beast who slouches near
to celebrate the turning of our world.
Though all our cities burn from falling bombs
hurled by greedy kings to enslave our hands
we lift high cups of wine at midnight hour
and drink to memory of our long-dead god
to celebrate the turning of our world.
Another year our world of aching hope
spins swift around the mindless glowing sun
whose beams of flaming light inspire our souls
so we express the zeitgeist of our angst
to celebrate the turning of our world.
© Surazeus
2016 12 31
No bells are ringing in the chilly night
where homeless refugees from brutal war
are huddled hungry in the bombed-out church
while fireworks explode in the empty sky
to celebrate the turning of our world.
No candles are glowing in roofless hall
where tables are not heaped with plates of food
and no sweet melodies from violins
vibrate with beating hearts at midnight hour
to celebrate the turning of our world.
No children gather at the giving tree,
no teens dance carefree at the party pool,
no lovers kiss in the light-flashing hall,
for all were burned to ash by flaming bombs
to celebrate the turning of our world.
The fallen sun god who gazed at the light
of ten thousand exploding nuclear bombs
walks empty highways sea to poisoned sea
and holds radioactive rain in burned hands
to celebrate the turning of our world.
Though blinded by the light of war for power,
he kneels in the meadow of broken skulls
and breathes on the last flower that may bloom
since all the honey bees crumbled to dust
to celebrate the turning of our world.
The girl who talks to ravens looks at me
through swirling cloud of smoke from blasting bombs
and tells me why the moon will weep tonight
then writes history of kings in bleeding runes
to celebrate the turning of our world.
Though millions of people will die in war
girls and boys will hold hands and kiss with love
and so regenerate new tribes of souls
who tend lush gardens on clean river shores
to celebrate the turning of our world.
We gather on the pyramid of eyes
and vote for who will play our tribal god
then first mother will give him sword of truth
so he can fight the beast who slouches near
to celebrate the turning of our world.
Though all our cities burn from falling bombs
hurled by greedy kings to enslave our hands
we lift high cups of wine at midnight hour
and drink to memory of our long-dead god
to celebrate the turning of our world.
Another year our world of aching hope
spins swift around the mindless glowing sun
whose beams of flaming light inspire our souls
so we express the zeitgeist of our angst
to celebrate the turning of our world.
I wonder if our age influences our view...
ReplyDeleteHappy new year