Hour by hour, abuse of power,
rolls down the rusty lane.
Racking up a score,
until the raven says,
"Nevermore."
And the clock returns,
to "before."
Wasted nights and wicked rites,
sapping the left from right.
Darkening clouds of discontent,
shatter the great good night.
Never before has such an ire,
darkened the skies of delight.
Dead poets slip from the site,
their entrails bordering on fright.
Sooner or later, the amplified it,
will raise its mighty might.
And the meek will rise to ostracize,
bring the abuse to light.
Dissolving in the afterglow,
of truly equal right.
More Poems
My Place
Read War's End, the Novel
Copyright 2003 © Ronald W. Hull
3/27/10