The Foretold Words Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The old books whisper, dust and age,
Of times like these, a turning page.
A world in change, a troubled sky,
Familiar echoes, passing by.

You don't need faith, no holy name,
To see the warnings, bright as flame.
The ancient words, they seem to fit,
A puzzle pieced, we can't omit.

A sense of dread, a chilling fear,
The future's here, much closer, dear.
Have chances slipped, have options gone?
The optimal prize, no longer won?

How many eyes, now open wide,
Will face the truth, nowhere to hide?
We let it pass, we let it wait,
And now we stand at fortune's gate.

T.M.Solvang