As the smoke clears
From your television screen
Your wallet feels light
It makes you want to scream.
To buy a new car
Or to buy a new home
You need lots of money
Deeper in debt and alone.
It is not easy
To navigate this life
You have no savings
And everything is tight.
But it costs more
To survive every day
When will it end?
I’m referring to the pain.
Everything costs more
Groceries or gas
Banks charge more fees
How long will it last?
We common people
Have no say in the world
So we must know our place
And rely on our ‘pearls’.
one thousand at the eleventh hour
They come from afar
through seasons bitten by frost
across a mountain's pass deep in snow
shout they all, " holy holy save us god"
"wash our sins away, free us from the damned”.
they dip into our well for healing
catch each trembling drop upon
crying supplicant lip, "holy, holy save me,”
"the end is nigh,”
"we hear the hooves cracking"
see the signs even in the daytime skies.
prostrate, rich and beggar charm the grotto
with promises of money or servitude.
monks and priests alike solemnly dash
a throng of fear with blessed water
scooped from a barrel behind the basilica.
Eleventh hour cometh, and e'er nun too soon
Bad tidings beckon, wicked's dark days of doom
Tears for fears, death's time's near
Cause, evildo'rs oft n'er hearing ear
Knave's and thieves, may scoff'n scorn
Malevolent scheming's oft so forlorn
Military men's might n'er a chance had
As king of kings battle, play's winning hand
Almighty steeds astride, turning the tide
Gainst wicked foe's, banishing blind guides
Earth swallow'd whole, fiendish Devil's pride
Ne'er to rise again, abyssed together inside
Lo! Behold! thousand years have fine'ly past
Sinister Spirit's gone f'good, f'rever at last!
For PD contest 17
November 2, 2015
It seems so late,
on your answer we wait.
Time is just an illusion,
we search for our conclusion.
As hours turn to ashes,
in love, we see the flashes.
The final hour is here,
fortold by the seer.
In that hour we live,
the eleventh hour to give.
Only heirs know that hour,
for in him we have power.
In victory we proclaim,
the glory of his name.
by johnaarongreen
copyright 2008
At the eleventh hour
Silence falls
Heads bow in reverence
Reflecting remembrance
Ordinary people
Stop to show respect
For those who fell
At the eleventh hour
A small group
Of Muslim youth
Chant descent
And wave banners high
“British soldier’s burn in hell”
And this small disrespectful group
Of Muslim youth
Burn poppies in the street
Desecrating that symbol
Of solemnity
And remembrance
Burning the poppies
In symbolic disrespect
Spitting on the dead,
Urinating on their graves
Or defecating on the cenotaph
Would be a less abhorrent act
By that small ignorant group
Of Muslim youth
The poppy does not discriminate
It doesn’t just represent
The white race
The Christian faith
European culture
It represents so much more
Every race
Every faith
From every continent
At the eleventh hour
That small group
Of Muslim youth
Who burnt the poppies
Disgraced themselves
And disgraced the memory
Of every Muslim soldier
Who fell on battlefields
Across the world
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