Drought- A New Poem

 

Drought – © Joe Black – December, 2021

 

Beneath my feet like blackened toast

I hear a crunching sound

With swirling winds that sound like ghosts

While leaves blow all around

The branches rattle with the wind

As dirt is strewn about

The winter sun is low and dimmed

At this time of drought

 

We pray for rain, we beat our breast

All to no avail

We can’t explain but do our best

To try and tell the tale

Of elders born in similar straits 

Who wrestled with their doubt

And puckish gods who swayed their fates

At other times of drought.

 

The patriots and the parasites

The devious and devout

The ancients and the acolytes

Who’d shriek and cry and shout

Those who lived to tell the tale

Those who chose to scream and wail

At clouds above to no avail.

All suffered from the drought

 

The deserts that we occupy aren’t only climate based

When demagogues are deified, and logic is replaced

By pundits and their party line

Who watch their venom sprout

And push the poisons they’ve designed

To profit from the drought

 

Scared souls will do anything

To quench a burning thirst

They’ll change the One they’re worshiping

If passions are well nursed

The tragic lessons of the past

Are easily shut out

The die may be already cast

Unless we end this drought.