Yet though I travel weary and weak,
I beg of you a moment to speak
a tale of strange and eerie things -
of darkness, fire, and flapping wings -
of a time when all was still -
no searching mind - no human zeal.
Darkness so deep, fire so hot -
there’s little wonder man forgot,
or, perhaps, I should truly say,
he remembered well - merely shied away.
For the hail, the gale, and thundering
spawned amidst those guardian wings
was terrifying to many a child
whose Father favored the meek and mild.
“The meek and mild,” said the Father,
“would inherit the Earth” and walk on water,
torch the crops and slaughter the sheep,
as well as the men, boys, and women who weep.
They would conquer all with complete submission,
and inspect the hymen with Fatherly permission.
Only the innocent and intact would pass
and were sold to a caravan for a camel or an ass.
And so it was for a thousand years,
man had no eyes, only ears
to hear the thunder of flapping wings,
to live in darkness midst strange and eerie things.
This tale, the human spirit doeth defile,
to think the inheritors are the meek and the mild.
August 18, 1989