ADRIFT FROM OPIK-OORT
Mere evolution to its very core,
this comet Ison spans six billion years
both frigid and forgotten act of war,
escaped out of the Oort and all its fears
Is there a melting place, where it will die
close to our solar light, Thanksgiving Day?
Or is there logic as its flying by,
survival is the core to come in play?
Are swastikas long gone, or put aside
by dreamers to their nucleus of doom
There-in a Texas day, could they not hide
Where all had thought there simply was no room?
What Evil lurks? The shadow tells it all,
Well knowing what is Ison, in snowfall.
The puzzle comes apart deep in the sky;
calls nothing that is concrete to our mind;
as far as we can tell and meets the eye
the reason for the tail's not ours to find.
We stand confused, and only guess at why
the wonder of it all has stilled our voice
did David Korish ever really die?
Was Hitler all worked out, with little choice?
Mount Carmel but a coming of an age
the catostrophic ending of mistake,
what hope is there to ever quell the rage
appeassing what is wrong, for honors sake?
Is there no sign that's ever flown the sky
or is it Ison where we choose to die?
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet