New Wine

Forced madness falls like a dirty rain.

Dour sconces emit odours reek of pain.

Little ones lost on edge of a dark wood.

Never been; never was, never should.

Ah but from whence this soul of mortal being came.

Back unto the earth save spirit arisen void of shame.

A New Wine pours forth from an eternal fount.

Beatitudes claimed as white steeds hoofs mount.

Visions come now proclaimed two thousand years now spent.

Zeniths of revelations afore which come now hence.

Nary comes a word from the demagogues of world-speak.

For less fortunate they be wrought forth their hour of need.

J. Allen Wilson © 8/2007