We live in foolish days

We live in foolish days

So many people

Hiding from

The nature of ways

The meaning of things

Lost in the mizzle

Of falsehood

A dog day brings,

Where stars fill the sky

Only in wilderness

The quietude

Upon the air

All but forgotten

Unless carried on high

By the eagle

A spirit free to soar

Over land and sea

Escape is the death

Of a last breath

Starved of life

Even the earth

Lies blanched

At the thought

Of a funeral

Where smoke is fired

With an imaginary

Tale of destruction

As nothing dies

But is killed

Hands are stayed

Only in restraint

Is this to be

A last hope

For the heart

Of a people, lost

In need of relief

A broken dream

Is a nightmare

To recapture

With no clean air

Between us

The purest of intentions

Is the rarest

Of commodities

To barter in haste

It is commonplace

For the foolish man

To lose their way

In the dying light

Of a Herringbone

Day.