New Religion Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

A land once bright, now shadows creep,
A new faith is born, while others sleep.
'MAGA' it's called, a whispered name,
A burning heart, a different flame.

Not church nor creed, but feeling strong,
Of what is right, and what went wrong.
A flag held high, a nation's pride,
With older stories tucked inside.

A yearning deep, for yesterday,
A fear that time has gone astray.
They gather close, a chosen few,
Believing what they're told is true.

But whispers rise, a troubled sound,
As other nations gather 'round.
Will walls go up, and bridges fall?
Will kindness shrink, embracing all?

The world looks on, with hopeful eyes,
Or troubled hearts, beneath the skies.
For every choice, a path is made,
In sunshine, bright, or somber shade.

This new belief, a seed is sown,
Its future yet and still unknown.
Will love prevail, or shadows reign?
The world awaits, in sun and rain.


T.M.Solvang