The rage of the lion
The dream of the lamb,
As symphonies crescendo,
And sun's blaze in ruin,
As engines sputter,
And semi's jacknife.
I am a lion among the leaves,
I am a shadow upon the ground,
As the dark machine rattles,
And broken gears grind,
And the stricken sparrow
Falls from the sky.
I'm a pale horse rising
Over the last broken hill.
And beauty is a bug
In broken roots.
And war's the final insult,
And truth it's first casualty.
And laughter God's response
To a flame of sorrow.
As I walk in solitude
Of a world Sheltered in place.
As stores lay shuttered,
And fear lines alleys,
As broken glass
Sings as stars,
And the gutter and sky
Are equal,
And the ration
Of food our portion.
And the media
Is our Bible,
And walk in suspicion
Of the sun,
And walk in suspicion
Of each other.
And question the dust,
And ask the wind,
And pore you this solace
From a broken cup.