Resurrection
A being bent on plunder stalks the land
Death is his name and death is what he wields;
Rebirth no rational mind could understand,
Our living flesh to cataclysm yields.
Our future he convincingly destroys;
The cold earth beckons as our future home.
The end for all those golden girls and boys
Is to be one with decomposing loam.
A million atoms back to earth decay;
Our resurrection’s in the gentle rain.
The grass, the leaves, the pleasant light of day,
In breezes and in dew we’ll live again.
Here is our one true home, our mother Earth,
So will we die and so attain rebirth.
Copyright © Frances Johnstone | Year Posted 2008
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