God Night
A brightly feathered crooner
daffodils along a hidden creek.
The bombs mimicking raindrops, cracking the halo of good dreams.
Assassins are ever commonplace.
The human race is in constant critical condition.
Following faint scents of rosaries misplaced.
God never seemed so far-far-far away.
The freshest plague is long since dead.
Something is still raging in their heads.
Funhouse faces of the modern man.
Stroking of the flesh-his only task.
The four horsemen are encroaching fast.
Upon the blistered sundials of wayward lambs.
Futile to hoard or take cover from the blast.
Our manna, God knows where our souls are at.
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