The Coming

We must build dikes of courage to hold back the flood of fear. Martin Luther King, Jr.

I no longer understand this aberrant world:
I am standing, ill, aged, wept in confusion:
Please, for me, explain, without repeated cliches,
then I might hear you and avoid a crossing.

On this side of the brook I did not drink the dark rum,
the fresh blood in the water, the slaughterhouse fall-off:
That upstream slew was held in the foul storm
by time’s broken trees, dipped, raw dams:

But nature’s stoppages are made to give up,
and her stick-jammed wall; broke under the rising:
‘This isn’t forever,’ I shouted to you,
as blood clogged the current and the gully turned red.

When all that floats are the clots of dead men,
then we will have gorged on the last of the world.

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