Glory Dawn (Justice Ever-Turning)
Footsteps on the boardwalk, both, distant and near;
Small-talk and laughter while sippin’ a stout beer.
Steam rising past shadows, steady rain pouring down;
As strangers seek refuge throughout my small town.
Raindrops persist falling from the brim of my hat.
I look to-and-fro — a Shiv’r’n wind at my back.
Hear the murmurs and whispers spread the rumors of night;
from darkened stale rooms and flickering candle-lights.
Morning arrives quietly, breakfast cooks on the stove;
A crisp chill in-the-air, like, dawn’s still harbor cove.
New day breaks brightly across the westerly walls,
with ‘justice-ever-turning’ like, the orange leaves of fall.
Ideas rise upwards like hawks on thermal winds,
Does a god who is dead speak of love, truth, and sin?
A cutting-like precision divides autonomous thought;
Freeing purpose and meaning, from the beauty it once sought.
Vengeance ever spreading like a contagious disease;
Some, in their own eyes, do — just as they please.
Like the serpent of old, who intends to deceive;
The philosophies of men betray the souls who believe.
Generations enlightened, the will-to-fiction is spread;
with Humanist fairy-tales, as ‘Uebermensch’ lies dead.
As the towns-people gather along the sides of the street;
Words are exchanged freely, without a rhyme or a beat.
Some, fear the unfolding, coming-on like the night;
Others take it in stride, with great joy and delight.
Though my dogs are a-barkin,’ a sharp ache in my back;
There’s rest and revival, from evil’s vicious attacks.
A hazy sun is sitting on the ridge of the hill.
Warm breeze rustles leaves, on a weathered window sill.
Morning glory dawns, as the garden she tends;
Bright blooming flowers from the care she extends.
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