Often speaking through doom colored lips is a breeze.
The still air of boredom and restlessness plots
And conjures all manner of sick tale to tell.
Deplorables paint a nice picture of hell
But then so do I while connecting my dots.
Whatsoever one chooses is then what one sees.
“If you don’t have a good thing to say, then don’t speak!”
Is the scolding I’d get as a talkative child.
When in error I’d take what goes on in the world
As a sure sign that meaning itself has unfurled.
Like bats flying rabid, ideas run wild
From prophetic scriblings in language oblique.
‘Hope my gisting is clear; I’ve no message to bring
As I reign in my placated prison of thought.
If there’s war against evil, bring scripture to bear.
Then if that doesn’t work, perhaps joining in prayer
Will bring all to whatever treasure is sought.
Absolute peace on earth – Would that make our hearts sing?