The sage speaks of lesser kingdoms,
false gods and prophesies hidden,
for when an insight blights the world
with but its words,
silence bares a better outcome,
and so the forecast utters not its worth.
Knowing this the sage speaks,
not of disasters, of falls and bruises,
but in warnings breath
some thoughts to attest a change,
a view instilled with cleansing rain
to wash away the pain of past.
Truth stands unopposed,
yet never disclosed in certainty,
for man bereft of security shouts bloody murder
if too close to the bone,
and panic serves no master well,
when change is bent on rearranging life.
So the sage in silence bears the wait,
the ensuing prophecies a ticking transformation,
a knowing of the situations
of tragedy and blame,
conflict and tainted human minds,
loss of life the same in any futures.
And so the world in complete despair,
the worried minds of disrepair ongoing,
and thoughts amass of catastrophe,
the possibilities of ego flaunts
and button-pushing threats dissolve
in a blanket of tears, as hope alone is all we have.
And that sage sits in silent weight,
bearing the world upon his shoulders,
seeing what will eventuate,
and as he grows older the hatred vowed
of soulless men in tall towers,
their warring pawns in death, a spectacle.
And one day his nightmare truly,
becomes an unwanted reality,
when truth alights from the darkness shroud,
to stand upon a last stand proud,
when humanity teeters,
and our ways finally find a recompense.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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