In the heart of history
Beating thunderously in the cavern of my soul
The grains of hope slipping through my fingers
Grasping madly I cry out
–
From my placid abode my call echos
To the cold the hungry the oppressed the imprisoned
Together we watch the last rays of the sun
Set beyond the horizon of our futures
–
Without hope the night continues long
The sunrise seems ever so distant
The stars so cold in the frozen river of their firmament
We below, alone
–
It was a good run they will say
Those for whom history is read in the papers
With disinterested hurruphs
And wonders of stock changes
–
For we who turn our faces to the wind
Feeling its chapping gusts on ruddy cheeks
We are not allowed such distances
Languid cetaceans we are not
–
Dawn will come, and with it the future
The trees roots are too deep to truly parish
But grim tidings come with the night
And we who must live in the dark.
