The Second Coming

There is a madness rising in the world.

I feel it quite severely.

Seek sanctuary in the sacred…your life, your family, your friends…but especially your home, Mother Earth. I hope against hope to keep beauty alive in this little place.

Politicians drag their overblown egos to parliamentary podiums to huff and puff their cursed words of war .

There is nothing to stop their vile spewing of death and revenge, for our media is the dog that laps at the floor!

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In a desperate attempt at solace, I turned into the pages of a book.

I was in search of inspiration, any small morsel of comfort, or even defiance.

cropped-cropped-old-pictures-saved-by-dylan-3678.jpgI picked up an old poetry book of mine and randomly opened it to find Yeats and this…

The Second Coming was penned in the stunned aftermath of WWI.

This time, I fear it takes the place of a prologue… for what lies ahead.

THE SECOND COMING

    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)