Photo: Time lapse image by Ruben Mishchuk via Unsplash
There is a ghostland somewhere near
Of spirits of the Earth
And aging oxygenated dirt
And there is hope and there is hate
But no one ever shows up late
They are driven purely by allergy
And allegory
To lonely far off woods
And they circle round the fire pits
With their woulda coulda shoulds
I’m allergic to fear and allergic to rage
It makes me cry and it makes me age
For I can feel the poop deck fall right back
And the ship open up to the breeze
And what do you do when the ship is sinking
And the mice only care about cheese?
I can see into the distance where justice can be served
But I have very little hope indeed that I’ll ever see this world
What’s it like falling backwards, sinking with the ship
What’s it like returning to the years of whip and zip?
What’s it like at your station
With your semi-automatic gun
Waiting for tax evasion and religiousless salvation,
What’s it like, does it feel comforting
To be armed while the world ends
Are you safer as the ship goes down
‘Cause you can carry your gun to town?
God created money
So some would have to starve
And God created justice
For the wealthy ones to carve
And God created people
So someone could be killed
And God created forests
For the factories to mill
Still, you can grab the pickings as the sinking ships go under
And we will save some hope indeed
For yes, there is light among the thunder
