The Doldrums Poem by Stan Petrovich

Ashen faces flood the street.
Change abounds so much so that its retreat
Is lauded & called the doldrums.
Hernan Cortez facilitated pogroms,
A sacking that gave Spain a brand new fleet
Of towering masts & enemies to meet.

Warfare now has become as well an ashen face,
Rivals to the east & an unknown west.
Unkempt maniacs with plots fooling plots
Is all they shall get-
There being no maker to meet;
No invisible virgins replete;
No sultry shores of whinnying sands.
The can look forward to no thing-
No thing but bandages on their heads & their hands.

The rest of us die for no visible cause, as well:
Food, family, shelter, flag,
Santa Claus.