The Prize (from Lifesongs 1)

In the silent darkness,
winter’s stiffness takes hold,
as yesterday’s warmth
gives way to tomorrow’s cold,
the mist of time shrouds itself
within a veil of unseen sorrow,
as mighty gentle giants
throw stones at posterity,
crumbling it to the ground
to make room
for another concrete monument,
the children listen to the voice
of their colored god,
and it tells them who they are,
and where they’re going,
and how to get there,
and why it must be so;

and it helps them to forget.

Who can know
these depths to which they
have fallen,
who can understand
this darkness
growing within.

The sun begins to set,
storm clouds gather upon
distant horizons,
ancient fires blaze once again,
laying this land to waste,
like giant behemoths
rising from the night,
leaving little margin for escape,
doomed from the beginning,
they never stood a chance,
seven hundred feet below
the end quietly waits
in a world all it’s own;

just like the prize
in a cracker jacks box.
.
.