The pouring out of more political talk
Spattering upon our heads
Closing our eyes and bowing
Not in respect but a reflex of disbelief
Again our hopes beneath our feet
Stuck in the mud
Sloshing around in our own doing
Not knowing which way to go
Our land a muddy wilderness
Extending into the glow of the horizon
That horizon always beckoning
With the light of truth.
Not so long ago, Stephen Jarrell Williams was called by some, the Great Poet of Doom… Now, he writes at night, enthused, and waiting for the Coming Good Dawn.