Scoff, you cynics,
you observers of the here and now,
but we are only our dreams
so why shouldn’t I,
with prophets and seers,
float out of my darkened window
on a beam of pure light,
soaring high above the swamp and desert
to see, just over the horizon,
a new world rising out of the dark,
that one where justice descends
like the morning dew,
swords are beaten into ploughshares
and peace, like a mantle,
covers the glistening earth.
First published at One Sentence Poetry
No comments:
Post a Comment