The First Gale of a Long Cold Winter
It felt a funeral procession
The day those laws were passed;
Convulsive landscapes under slants of light
Wrangled in ways we couldn’t guess
Children become mourners behind such drums
That beat our humanity from us on out,
And compass needles are charged no more,
Their powers of solution now fallen gone
With every new law that became like stone
It felt as if angels died twice again
Light little laughs gone on the breeze
Stains and distant strains of sweetness run dead
And it was born and started thus
The first gale of a long cold winter,
Freezing stoic, black satin though aloof —
Such an ignorant cadence perished thinner
Yet how those enigmatic riddles lie —
Told lies from the fiery tongue that spake —
Driven stakes between our fingers, burst and agonized,
Popping darkened bloody bubbles — has it become too late?
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