Parousia

Are you alive now?

Its morning for I see the Waking Sun,

chasing away doubts that painted night's shadows

on touched skin,

on minds fertile,

on shallow soul,

on hearts turnstile...

Yet still your cultured mind plots feral dream,

of friendships persuaded to slay hate,

of mutual Love found,

of bullets losing ground to debate,

of freedom unbound.

Awaken and see -

your son who became King crowned by thorny wreath,

the Blue Turban raise false fear upon the scribbles of a Mad seer,

the continent undiscovered raise its dark shackled hand to cause a white tear.

When do we meet?

At the Division Bell?

Perhaps parousia was but a gentle dreamy lullaby

we sing to close our eyes 'neath the growing Crimson sky.