Across The Anarchist Sky

Whispers come from within

the darkened shadows

replete with the framework of misery

from a hangman's gallows.

A full moon approaches fast

across an anarchist sky,

With brave men giving,

And only God willing,

No more will face,

 This silent disgrace 

of dying.

For it is said,

Of both the living and dead,

That old journeys must end,

for new ones to begin.

So, go I,

Across this anarchist sky

Chasing the rising moon

From hill,

To river,

To darkest sea,

Resting in peace

Resting…

Upon the shore

Of my complacency.

For I…I…I…

Cannot halt the hangman's rope,

Nor can I still the slide of mankind,

Down life's evil and slippery slope.

For I have toiled a lifetime of worry,

Only to realize,

That all fades to black,

That all will die,

And that all

Will fall

Into times eternal, crack.

So, go I

into the anarchist sky.

J. Allen Wilson © 2004