Dusk

Dusk, in spring’s sweet earthly valance
holds the warmth of transition’s scent,
captured twixt winter storm and longing
toward summer’s length and cool rain spent.

Here in motions of vernal push,
burgeoning green and softening soil,
the day draws short in daylight’s linger,
so comes the work of gray’s slow toil,
displacing greens and blues to softness,
dissolved amidst the cooling air,
trees stand stark, reduced to contrast,
silhouette undressed and bare.

The current of the day draws in,
busy wings and souls sit still,
retired from this day’s warm giving,
tasks left behind in sunlight fills
the ledger for tomorrow’s blessing,
regain the rhythm of this changing season.
At dusk, tho’, is kind reprisal,
where silence, honored, requires no reason,
as life finds pause within its will,
between the task and purpose fill.

Revolution’s Call!

These men, no shame, no honor have,
as to their selfish purpose tend
by words empowered in moral value,
yet straight from hell their actions send
a spiking depth in darkness,
amidst the light of hope,
destroy the strength in clinging fingers
where hangs a truth, a lasting grope.

Black deceit, vile and lecherous,
such treason do these men release
onto the hearts of honest men,
whose values hold, yet strength decrease.
Overwhelmed by such a number,
enmasse the many follow on –
mocking truth on moral’s brow,
steaming strong destruction now
that lays a future’s hope to waste,
that rends a cavity blank and wide,
so squelch the cries for justice, peace,
thus bend the waves of future’s tide…

These men, these few, we chose them, sure –
by shallow thought and voice demur –
we stuck our heads deep in the sand,
followed suit, refused to stand
to halt their black progression’s grind,
where under track and foot our minds
and freedom extols the greatest toll,
that now the black march of future’s coming,
hear the drums of death in roll!

One path, one choice, for those who stay
in lighted shadows for peace and truth,
revolution rings a telling bell that calls
us "fight!" or be washed in proof
that inaction is no action!
Pacifism is a slave man’s curse!
So rise we must to mend our day!
Save republic and liberties’ purse!

Voice and Bone

Dark, this narrow focused vision
of mankind’s controlling power,
dimly lit by cowardice,
this shadowed path, not ours.

Halls of men decry demands
for fiscal floundering, set adrift
in times where mother nature pays,
as through her dwindling resources sifts
the greedy hands of sightless men,
bound to grow their gold stack higher,
who refuse to heed God’s warning,
as their names are called from future’s pyre…

For through death’s ash will sore repent
their souls for lacking caring,
their children and generations hence
will, by their deeds, no doubt be sharing
the hell of what tomorrow brings,
the ache of nature’s fortune sold,
distressed with hope their blues will sing
misfortune’s rancor for nature’s gold!

Today I rest and pray for strength,
that hope may rise from words aware,
so shift societies’ critical mass
in minds, by actions, and those who care.

Tomorrow is the present’s burden,
by stewardship and values draw
the motions to honor nature’s balance,
thus form the bounds of living law.

Today, in quiet despair I feel
the quaking moments of our future’s plight,
set to course and accelerated
by men who lack, by men who fight
for selfish gains against the grain
of how this life’s eternal.
So stand, do I, in voice and bone
to raise a conscious care, maternal
in the ways of earth,
enrobed in compassion’s truest flame,
in prayer that my children’s place
may carry this living’s truth the same…