Gabriel is blowing his horn
So loud and clear as if to warn
Of coming doom that was about to be
Change your ways if you don’t see
Soothsayers shout their message to all
Heed it now in their final call
But the people just sat and shook their head
They laughed and said it was an imaginary dread
Viruses spread quickly from the East
To kill the people oh such a beast
Where to go we rung our hands
Mighty now was God’s command
Those infected coughed and bled
The uninfected ran away instead
No place is safe in this world ours
For our sins our safety is now beyond our powers.
© Paul Warren Poetry
There is differences in,
our struggle and you fight.
our is righteousness
Your violence.
Your purpose is to destroy,
to erase heritage and history
Your motto is to assimilate us into your boggy
Rather we fight for survival,
to keep our identity unique and independent.
We fight to breath,
to keep our virsa, sovereign and uninfected.
our fight is for freedom,
While they want to keep us slaves.
Fight will be continue, continue unto death or victory.
Yosemite’s marvels
glaciers from the last Ice Age
sculpted Half Dome and El Capitan
alas, though I worship the almighty Hand,
I am but sand
compressed by elements
solidified by desert sun
pounded by wind
made porous by rain
withstanding, I remain
sandstone
vessel capturing microscopic organisms
purifier for aquifers
tan, brown and red
camouflaged in Zion Park
filter for nature’s emotions
heat’s scourge grows
water’s passion flows
sandstorm wind blows
yet I am not enraged
only engraved
uninfected, merely reflective
poetic words pouring from my cracks
aged by time
refined by nature’s whims
from dust I came
and dusty fate awaits
aging poet
weathered sandstone
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