July 4, 2020 – Poem #144

Blotting out the light and sun
a shroud descends upon the land
 a covering of night and fog obscuring
unseen death, waiting to lend a helping hand.

Hearing the sound of labored breathing
from somewhere in the night and fog;
on River Styx the sound of oars
departing for those distant shores.

Mixed in the sounds of
“I can’t breathe!” and gunshots;
Might you spare another coin
to pay a busy ferryman?

Now chanting voices and marching feet
crashing sounds of  idols fallen
clinking glasses and liquor flows
for young immortals in their great conceit.

while with fireworks and speeches
we are told to have no fears
no mention of the scythe and Reaper
the dead, the dying, the hunger, the tears

Speaking only of the idols,
deaf to snickers; irrelevance,
a minion of the scythe and Reaper
exposing our great impotence.

We have reached that point
now fearfully, underneath a blackened sky
where two roads diverge in a yellow wood
and we must choose  one to travel by.

“Choose wisely”

About toritto

I was born during year four of the reign of Emperor Tiberius Claudius on the outskirts of the empire in Brooklyn. I married my high school sweetheart, the girl I took to the prom and we were together for forty years until her passing in 2004. We had four kids together and buried two together. I had a successful career in Corporate America (never got rich but made a living) and traveled the world. I am currently retired in the Tampa Bay metro area and live alone. One of my daughters is close by and one within a morning’s drive. They call their pops everyday. I try to write poetry (not very well), and about family. Occasionally I will try a historical piece relating to politics. :-)
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2 Responses to July 4, 2020 – Poem #144

  1. beetleypete says:

    Very appropriate indeed, Frank. As always, you summed it all up in one poem.
    Best wishes, Pete.

    Liked by 1 person

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