Summer Sunsets

At dusk the green leaves glow as luminous as Chinese lanterns
While the horizon slowly begs the Sun to fulfill its destiny
How strange it must seem to be early late in the evening
Wishing poetry and life were as long as the distance between us.

My keystrokes substitute lines my pen would eloquently use
It sees lies and warfare and cheating so massively obscene
Whores with Kalashnikovs look so lean and seductive
Dressed in exspensive suits and ties so profane I weep.

At night, the flares die after the rockets red glares set fires
Calls to prayer seem distant as hope around weeping mothers
The children still alive see perverse sunrises when bombs explode
Because that means a madman stays in control and safe.

Meanwhile, far away a man weeps into his dirty hands
The summer dust turning into fine mud off his hungry face
Home lies in such a ruined state cavemen could feel at home
Because religious fanatics toss men like dice making sunsets.

Copyright © 2017 Charles Edward York
No part of this poem may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way or form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise without the written permission of the author.*
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