The First of February 2020
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This is my visceral response to the horrific travesty of justice that occurred in the United States Senate on January 31, 2020.
Out into the crisp February morn,
Sunshine finally frees nature
From the long oppressive grip
Of the icy, snowy, bitter cold of
Grey darkness that has enveloped
Both sky and human heart alike.
Nature briefly awakens,
The small winter birds scatter
And chase about the sky and chirp,
While the squirrels search and forage
For nuts buried in the cold,
White layers on the ground.
Is it foolish optimism to think,
Much less feel, hope?
A similar oppressive layer of
Enforced grey darkness
Has enveloped my nation,
As men and women in the Senate,
Bereft of a human soul,
Feed ferociously on the chumming
Of ambition, greed, and power
Thrown to them by wealthy despots and bigots.
Well did they know the guilt
Of the predator occupying the high seat of power.
Well did they know the sewage
Of corruption and deceit
Into which they immersed themselves.
Yet, bereft of a human soul,
Shaking their fists furiously
At the heavens, they curse God
To whom they previously pledged fealty.
They damn and ban both God and God’s justice
From our nation with great solemnity and decorum,
Then dance around the Senate chambers
With smug smiles of victory on their faces.
Accused of blinding justice in our nation,
These parasitical, political Pharisees,
Cry out with great indignation,
as in the story of the man born blind,
“Surely, we are not blind!”
While the 2000 year old words of Jesus,
With the tenacity of tinnitus rings in their ears,
“If you were blind, you would not have sinned.
But you do see, and your sin remains.”
On this cold, crisp winter morn of February,
As sunshine dispels the dark greyness
That has oppressed nature, I wonder
Whether the dark blanket of despair
That is now covering our nation
Will ever be cast off and the sun
Of God’s justice will ever return to our nation?
Yet, the birds still chirp
And chase around the sky.
The squirrels still dig for the treasure
They buried in the frozen landscape.
Is it foolish optimism to think
Much less feel, there is hope?
(c) 2020, Robert Charles Wagner. All rights reserved.
Copyright © Robert Wagner | Year Posted 2020
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