A Seer's Omen

Written by: L'nass Shango

Like the lost sounds of evening bells 
The voices of children pealing 
The last lie of innocence in papyrus away; 
Not the baubled brook in joy; 
The rinsing screams soliciting crude customs back, 
Spreading phonetic fingers of laughter for aid; 
Our tone dead heart hears nothing 
But self-cloying honey, leached and leaking 
From comb-cells flaccid to the bone. 
These times have lost more than silver steeples or steel 
Bright hope aspiring to the sun; 
We poor Daedalus by sight driven lust 
Watch in writhing disgust autumn unwinging us 
Shearing golden trees of leaves against the brawny breeze; 
What architect built the broken oak? 
Our Icarus from heaven is shaken. Trust 
Falling - all proven traditions past! 
The lives of children in an hour glass 
Tell, myths were better than this Midas dream