I gazed upon the blood red moon
Hung bravely in planet shadow
Imaginations long grown fallow
The prophets of fear cry our doom
Words of desecration strewn
I brace my soul from their bellow
For though my deepest self may know
Lies oft repeated confound the truth
Spring free from the bitter minds
Grabbing power in others’ misery
Search fiercely for another kind
Whose hearts embrace the mystery
Poison words will make us blind
Tune fast to night sky liturgy
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Baseball has its five-tool players. You’re a five-tool writer!
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Thanks, Len. I was feeling more like it was severe A.D.D. Maybe I’ll go with your description.
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