#armagedon
A vessel with some water,
The proverbial impasse.
‘Tis often seen half empty,
Yet it seems a half full glass.
Who drank the last swallow from the half full glass?
Is optimism on the brink?
Will our pessimistic present pass?
So we can fill the glass and drink!
For all in optimistic camp
Can we insure the world's survival?
Can we, other gloomy souls revamp;
Stage a miracle revival?
Like a prophet or evangelist
Laying hands upon the crowd
A leper’s lips, once shunned, now kissed,
A beggar not too proud
To ask the rich to share some love
Or a grain of understanding.
Would manna, sent from Heav’n above
Restore belief in those demanding
Proof. A sign or something else
To kindle hope and quench the fear
That our half full glass has shattered
And the end is drawing near.
And for those who suffer in the dark
Is Armageddon on its way?
Has the Devil gone and lit the spark
That precedes our judgment day?
There are cops committing ******
And crazies killing cops
Are the pessimists so positive
That the killing will not stop?
What then, could be life’s purpose
For those who have this view?
It seems that all the pessimists
Are a suicidal crew.
Is there then a cure for pessimists?
Or are they the smarter folk?
Are the optimists so blind
They cannot see the joke?
For what, if not a joke
Is a world without control
Did God put all he had on ‘odd’
And then say, “Let’r roll!?”
Every gambler has a system
‘Guaranteed to win’
God says, “Goodness conquers evil
Compassion conquers sin.”
But is His system failing,
As the pessimists believe?
Should we all fold, throw in our cards
Rise from our chairs and leave?
While the optimists are calling
Saving wealth they cannot spend
For you cannot take it with you
When you finally reach the end.
I have not the answer,
Though I’d opt for Half Full Glass
I want to believe in something
That gives us half a chance.
But speak out loud ye poets
If you think the same or not.
All entitled to a voice.
Our voice is all we’ve really got.
A vessel with some water,
The proverbial impasse.
‘Tis often seen half empty,
Yet it seems a half full glass.
Phil Lindsey 4/20/15
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 8:05 AM UTC
Trudging through the fields of grey
Worn boots that have seen better days
Sword hanging from bloodied hand
Death spreads across the land
Crows circle around his head
They carry the voices of the dead
Sky grey with cold, bitter rain
He stares across the dismal plain
A journey long through endless years
Left behind his childhood fears
Long forgotten love and joy
No more an innocent boy
He's killed for duty, honor and pride
Now he kills just to survive
His battered face and bloodshot eyes
His wounded soul's unending cries
Adorned shield, like him battered and broken
All the oaths he should never have spoken
Promises made to god and to man
Abandoned like a misguided plan
Hunched over and broken the wasted land he roams
There's nowhere left he can call home
Laid to waste by his own hand
Once a paradise now a desolate land
The last one standing wins the prize
He should have read between the lies
Sold his soul for fortune and fame
In the end only he's to blame
Killed them all, newborn to the old
From the weak right up to the bold
Couldn't be stopped once the blood-lust started
By his hand, from life all have departed
A job well done or done to well
Now he lives an eternal hell
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 6:35 PM UTC