marching to Bethlehem

 
 
 
Things fall apart.
The center does not hold.
We, along the periphery
dissemble for survival.
All our pretty goals
dissolving in the face
inevitable despair brings.
The wise babble desperate incantations.
The weak of will and mind
sing Hallelujahs and kick the peasants
as they pass.
Perhaps we are in the hallway
of a great reckoning.
Mad Earth grumbles loudly,
threatens to rescind Her bounty.
Men of illwill, men of destiny
proudly proclaim their birthright
to pillage, to plunder, to prey upon
chaos, annihilation.
If only the poets sang truth in such
majestic certainty, with such
charismatic humor and allure.
Things fall apart
coalesce
reconfigure.
Here, along the periphery
we carry our burdens,
sink ever more deeply
into rotten crevices
singing our selves
into sleep.
.
.
.
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