Sunday, March 23, 2014

HOPE OF THE FATHERS


Night arrived in her cool breeze
Yet, there seemed to be a furnace burning within
Threatening to gush out and stretch to her environs
They didn’t see this flame yet they sensed its heat
The fathers whispered amongst themselves
Gray heads, in curiosity and trepidation, embraced Night
Night, in her gentle tone lulled them into a deep slumber
As she breathed over their brows
Then she struck!
Let us huff and puff and blow this piece of junk away she said to comrades
Then we can erect our sanctuary on their sacred grounds
She watched, as her comrades did her bidding and defiled the land of the spirits
Several seasons have passed since this phenomenon
Yet the fathers gnash their teeth and blame themselves
For the young ones have embraced the strange asylum
And forgotten the sacred shrine that stood on that same grounds
Perhaps, with Time, the faithful sage, the new age will go back for the old traditions

Yes! Good, old Time will tell.

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