Maturation of a Nation
Hot winds blow
loose feathers fly
and in their wisps
rise rumours
of hatred, war, and greed.
Lost in time
they spin on currents
dropping their burdens
like seeds to earth.
We who must harvest
this insane legacy
(since we were the sowers)
carefully tend the crop
lest we run out of fuel
for our accustomed ambitions.
Nonetheless we should let it rot.
And directionless proceed
into the future
with nothing
but our consciences
for manna.
Hot winds blow
loose feathers fly
and in their wisps
rise rumours
of hatred, war, and greed.
Lost in time
they spin on currents
dropping their burdens
like seeds to earth.
We who must harvest
this insane legacy
(since we were the sowers)
carefully tend the crop
lest we run out of fuel
for our accustomed ambitions.
Nonetheless we should let it rot.
And directionless proceed
into the future
with nothing
but our consciences
for manna.