Tuesday, February 1, 2005

Winds of Change

Shadows in the noontime;
daylight in the night.
Each are out of line
and neither in the right.
The wind is blowing fire,
simply breathing death,
upon the weakened life.
Why is no one's guess.

Rebellion is squashed,
they have no hope to fight.
The dictator's iron hand
holds them in his might.
Darkness reigned the kingdom,
seven years they say...
Somber bells were ringing
until that one day.

The haze of evil broke apart
as an aurora like a sword
cut through the dark.
The sudden news the people heard,
"The dictator is dead."
Soon as he came, the hero left.
He didn't bother with thanks;
just grinned and shook his head.
Then from the shore he raised his sails
and sailed away again.

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