broken

thy broken strings, o harp
diminish now the melodies
       that kept my vision sharp
           arpeggios lay dead
           along sequential trails that once
                  brought music to my head
 
thy broken wings, o bird
make faltering apologies
       where once thy flight was heard
           spent feathers pirouette
           like dangling siblings in a dive
                  without an epithet
 
thy broken dreams, o night
dispense thy stars in disarray
       and set thy moon in flight
           thy dreamers sleep in vain
           circadian rhythms ricochet
                  where sleep doth death restrain
 
thy broken kings, O Lord
how desolate they make the earth!
       no nation can afford
           to spit in wisdom’s face
           and crucify the hand that feeds
                  the whole damn human race
 
© Copyright 2019 December 03
by Clyve A. Bowen♫