By Patricia Keegan
Before me: standing between 911 and the future,
Hangs a dimly lit veil.
Waves rush ahead of the shifting quicksand,
Foresight lies frozen in time.
A spiraling wind sweeps across the earth,
Devastating land and trees,
Spinning homes into sawdust.
Stranded polar bears
Lose their confidence
As footsteps dissolve into shattered ice.
The searing sun dries the plains,
And turns to brittle the tiny bodies
Of African heroes of Hope.
Above me: The sky is endless, orderly,
Flooded with a billion stars.
A brilliant moon to break the darkness,
A sun pouring warmth into the hungry
Mouths of flowers and trees.
But O sad world
What have we wrought here?
You ride your daily cycle on tilted axis,
Savaged and torn apart,
Carrying the wilted, withered, wounded and weary
Into the redeeming arms of God.