Flickering Hope

The light of truth, glowing in the darkness,

surrounded by unlit candles, waiting

for a spark of hope to cast out duress,

and bless the flame that will glisten and sing.

Who will avail us, when the last word fails

to resemble anything deemed genuine;

and the house of cards, built upon the lies

of cancel culture crumbles in the wind?

(Causing the utopian dream to singe).

~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~

The utopian dream will soon singe,

when the recklessness of society

gone awry, begins to weaken at the hinge,

that once kept people united and free.

The shadows of the past begin to cast

storm clouds over a brave new world’s likeness,

wherein free speech has been stifled at last,

and the only hope found, is the stillness

of the light of truth, glowing in the darkness.

Pruning Time

To write, or not to do so,
in ink, pixels, or pencil;
to express my views or not,
and risk being ostracized?

This climate of intolerance
sprung up as if overnight,
from an inflexible critique
of everything under the sun.

The seasons are changing
and the times are rearranging;
the values of the past have become,
like branches that must be pruned.

Yet, each time they grow anew,
they are trimmed back even further;
until, perhaps, nothing will be left,
except the barren trunk of a tree.

And, when that is reduced to nothing
except for a stump, planted firmly in the ground,
the seedlings will quietly sprout up elsewhere,
remaining hidden, until the light reappears.