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Poem

The air was very still
but clear, you know, so
no problem, a nice day
but the air was very still
and dark shadows in deep caves
trembled, the sun’s halo shivered
and the guardians of man
lost their appetite for joy.

In the distance was a shocking
roiling black cloud, roiling black cloud
poised to rise as high as a galactic
wave unprecedented and unknown to the guardians of man who had lost their appetite for joy and who were just arranging a meeting to discuss the stillness of the air and the meaning of happiness while waiting for Plato
and Aristotle to show up. Bickering
because Zeus wanted to speak first,
bickering blocked out the black cloud
the roiling black cloud hissing and hushing, biding its time waiting for the guardians to lose their joy altogether because it had to be all their joy
before the dark power could be.

Plato and Aristotle wandered in and another couple of guys Moses and Jesus.   And a few women (God forbid) well not God perhaps but Esther, Mary and that crazy Joan of Arc were expected as they had a way with words but are often busy and they too, the darkness knew, were depressed about the new coldness that wrapped around men’s hearts when in times of plague and war usually the best emerged. The nice day waned or the moon waned. Whatever the case, the wise ones left, not revealing God’s Will.

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