Under a starless sky the mounds move like an ebbing sea
As the moon stands sentry with an uncomfortable glow
Peering below for obscure foes prowling the dark.
Night’s mortal choir can be unforgiving to our mind's eye,
Bringing visions of godless armies tramping ever near,
Their bitter throats puffed with god-filled vengeance.
The night bird no longer croons for our fluttering glory,
Instead she travels toward her family, as it should be,
Her voice banking off watery lips of listless nations;
The echo felled empty as we creatures of madness roar,
Crying out to the mythical army that they cease their tide
And evaporate to shadow so we can tell our tales of yore;
When we were free and a gallon of gas didn't murder a child.
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman