enter, the quiet multitude
leave your endless shadows behind
come forward into the street light,
make darkness tremble escape.

alas, yeomen of death,
cast those blank sorrows elsewhere:
this dire straight of asphalt
yearns zealously to drive.

the glaring nation of blue
embarks on its tragic journey;
handball of the gods
wailing fire over the gate.

Hail! crowds, do not waver
stay your course into oblivion.
run roots into this ground
whilst black defeats the light.

the moment slows to infinity
and The bomb explodes the city;
history will na'er remember
but frozen in time, they'll survive.

11/27/2002

Posted on 11/27/2002
Copyright © 2024 William P Strucke