This poem is about the events in my own created world, not on Earth.
The empty woods are filled with trees
the paths around them are all he sees.
Michael the prophet, the father of man
Sees beyond what no one can.
This wood is filled with life We lost
We threw them away forgetting the cost.
We train him here in celestial ways
to see beyond his limited days.
We taught his mother the ancient art;
her spirit was curious with a valliant heart.
Michael is the ancient warning
teaching the people their future mourning.
the children will weep and their mothers will sleep
their faces all lost in unbridled pain
the cities are aflame and the people ablaze,
the way his son will spend his days.
He'll hate the world and clean each plain
leaving behind the desolate to weep.
We can only hope salvation won't come....
"If history is to change, let it change. If the world is to be destroyed, so be it. If my fate is to die, I must simply laugh"
[This message has been edited by fractal007 (12-28-2002 12:24 AM).]