Windswept Spirits

Windswept spirits cry unto a secret place,

as the King in his fallacies loses his face.

Children in empty corn bins swiftly hide,

While black horses of famine on dead fields ride.

Earth moans out in such derisive pain,

as warmongers walk merrily amidst countless slain.

A scorching sun burns now in a relentless sky

And widows without memories in agony die.

Time has been told through the smoldering land,

Days of woe marked by the fall of man.

Life given over now to damnations ruin

As a King loses his face,

To the windswept spirits which cry

unto a secret place.

J. Allen Wilson © 2004