The New Age
Maybe not the best of times,
But probably not the worst;
For as the agony climbs,
You feel as though you were cursed.
Because the time becomes near,
But the end we know not when;
And though many showing fear,
What will happen until then.
Although you ache and you pain,
Eyes are blurry eyed to see;
You fret of torrential rain,
Becoming more frequently.
But the words are not within,
Your thoughts or upon your tongue;
Because your heart wreaks with sin,
That you allow to be flung.
You are weak with no power,
That allows you to resist;
And is a tempting flower,
Within your mind would exist.
The things that you are doing,
The promises that you keep;
Are what you should be shooing,
Instead of dreams in your sleep.
I wait to wake at the dawn,
Of the day of the new age;
When the fire has withdrawn,
No longer being in rage.
Copyright © 2013 Richard Newton Sherrer
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The New Age
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