Crisis Poem by Channelle Previent

My grandmother's voice shivers on a bare branch
I toddle around the empty house
Spring and summer are both gone
Leaving an elderly infant
To explore the rooms of age.

The house of my childhood stood empty
On a grey hill
All its furniture gone
Except my grandmother's grindstone
And the brass figurines of her gods.

In the colourless crack that comes before morning.
In a place where nobody can sing.
Words distribute their silence
Among intricately clustered glyphs.

Folklore many among the people
Countries, kingdoms ever gone
But world is the same
Systems of governance changed
Fanatics lost the wars
Autocracies slowly vanishing
Democracies thriving
Experiments of governance
Transparency people requests.

Their legendary tales spread
History is great events
People judges the legends
Emperors lost the wars.

A life full of happiness
An year full of new hopes
Enlightenment and education
Their great hopes ever
Next in alleviating poverty
And an address there own.