Giddy with the prospect of painting words
on a blank white canvas,
I see wheat undulating to the rhythms of a summer breeze,
lyrical and uninterrupted,
only to find humanity reaching out for critical mass
to take it to the apocalypse.
Wave oceans all in blues and greens and white froth,
crash against defenseless little children at the border
a scintillating dreadfulness,
fluffy white clouds
in a sun filled blue sky
so unforgivingly beautiful,
bearing their dreams away
receding like the misty province of ghosts.
I feel that warm breeze slide up my bare arm,
smile at the comfort of her touch,
from the unfeeling grotesque
for religious extremists murdering the faithful
praying handcuffed on the ground,
flinching only at sound of automatic rifle’s staccato daggers
in the public square.
The Lord brings us hurricane winds so often
filled with trepidation,
at such evil uncontrolled,
we know we must have troubled our own house.
ISIS and Osiris flow down the Nile like the Black Death,
I wonder at the spectacle viewed from the heights,
Ayn Rand applauding the autonomy of the individual
leaving little room to breathe in communal compassion,
even to weep for lost children,
impending tongues cut from billions of throats.
Yes, it has been our lovely day out,
celebrating the great holiday beach adventure
of the thing that slithers in sublime silence,
swishing through the cool grass,
preceding the fall of peoples and nations.