The Darkness Drops Again

It seems as though the world is shutting down, Things happening that simply don’t compute. The present curdles, turns a sepia brown. Current affairs – a tree with rotten fruit. The nineteen thirties seem to rise again But through a looking glass where left is right, And cowards gag the obvious refrain: Do not go gentle into that good night. William Butler Yeats, obsessed with gyres, Miscalculated by a few decades, Nor did his slouching beast conspire with liars. But prophesy shines bright before it fades On those whose lives the years will not condemn, Who fight for more than just Jerusalem.