Living the Dream

If this is how it is to end, let us not go splintered,
but let us die, pointing our fingers
to a lonely world that’s wildly wintered
so our history freezes and evidence lingers

that others may know, it was not our choice,
or fate, or luck, or lengthy lack of blessed be
but necessary this ghoulish voice
forever remembered by man and tree

that once we were, and still we are,
all of us, fine and forested fitful races
that did arise from soiled events and sanded bar
to take our rightful and honored places.

Tags: Poems //