poet Midnight Writer

Midnight Writer

Mankind's Brewing Storm

I see everything clearly now. My tainted soul, saved only by grace has allowed me to see through the fog of lies. Men have conspired and won, or so it would seem. There is a terrible storm brewing overhead and will sweep many lives away. We had a select few giving warning to change our course before it becomes too late, but the masses didn't hear. Blind, deaf, and dumb like zombies walking over a thousand foot cliff, falling…falling…falling to a brutal death.

I write these things as if I were a spectator witnessing the greatest play performed of all time, recorded forever in history. I am powerless now to help stop the storm's course. I can only try to save myself and ones I love.

Devised by men, straight from the pits of hell, God has allowed my murky soul to see things many men do not. I dearly love my fellow man, I love human kind, and I wish the children afar did not cry from their stomach pains. This expression of love is foreign to me, but from the nature of God divine.

If God should not return after the storm has cleared, I pray the remaining victims would become vigilant and never allow such a tragedy for all human kind to ever occur again. Death is for old age, but lives cut short is the work of Satan.

I am unsure of what will become of me, or the ones I love. I think about everyone that has ever entered my life, my parents, my friends, lovers, and even the people I've passed on the street corner making eye contact for only a brief moment. What will become of them? Will they ever smile again? Will I ever hear the sounds of their voice anymore?

My strength is limited, my resources few. Of this lack, I am not sure if it can carry me through. However, my spirits are confident knowing that God will give me the wisdom to navigate this terrible catastrophe.

And in the end, when the clouds clear, our faces will look to the skies with tears. The sun will return and shine upon us, and its rays will wipe away every tear, and heal our sorrows. Hope will be restored once again into our hearts. We will go on, and birth a new generation. We will teach them the ways of our folly and arrogance. The only requirement we instill into our children is to never…never…never…repeat our mistakes ever again, but only leave our past as our history forever.

Poem Submitted: Thursday, November 8, 2012
Poem Edited: Friday, November 9, 2012

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