A Distant Thunder

The early morning hours
 were dark and gray
 people hurried from homes without power
 to some refuge far away;
tears shed profuse and tragic
 freedom is a reality that never seems to last
 despite their efforts and their pleas pelagic
 autocratic leaders seek their powers deeply cast;
unilateral tragedies and inhumanity forever return
 beneath the rubble  of smoke and dust
 until democracy and freedom, all hope is burned
 submissive to a dictator's lust;
when you hear and see the smoke and the fires
 a distant rumble drags each of us 
 into the darkness of the quagmire.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

Poem

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Wolf Avatar
February 27, 2022 at 6:50 PM
I like the 'magic' in the term 'pelagic.' Thanks, DM ~ Gershon
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