Four Pecks Of Humanity And All Is Lost

A lambent flame resides inside –
But full the bushel of fear and pride,
            Overturned on pilot light
            And cools the furnace into night.

As The Watchmen Waits

I woke to the wounds of our world –
      The brokenness of our demands:
                on rivers, on land,
                                    on sea,
      on creatures wherever they may be,
      on ourselves a great weight –
Will the crooked ever go straight?

A New Heaven & A New Earth

They have come –
              blindfolds covering their eyes –
              ears, mouth, nose: masked;
              hands gloved.
Wrestlers of the moon –
              Defenders of the winter solstice.

The night is made too bright by the vexing symbol of existing day.
So they gravitate, arm-in-arm, (an army) to crush and rip the moon
              from its celestial shelf –
              Sending it to the ocean floor.

Displacing the waters of our world to the highest peaks of land,
              now distant islands,
              where (through ice and stone) caves are hewn for dwelling.

The earth’s core, in memoriam, begins to cool.

Tomorrow they will start on the stars,
              crumbling them to dust,
              a fine sediment upon which they will sleep.

Then, in final frown,
              the sun will rise and set to its demise –
              Causing the waters to rise, displaced by raging heat,
                            over the island peaks –
                            Rushing water into the lonely lairs;
                            A final baptism of judgment.

The sun will continue to sink into the earth’s core,
             reigniting it – a refiner’s fire – up through the waters –
                                                                                    A volcanic rebirth –

Casting the sun back into the heavens and land upon the sea;
              And there will be day forever.