Sword Swinging (a poem, thanks to E)

the sword of Damacles
begins its creaking dissent
amid madness and bitter resentment
the darkening dawn ahead… prescient.

Armaggedon beckoning (to borrow a phrase
from a friendly poet) with skillful ways to praise
using words of beauty…or malaise
born of forethought…not meaning to surprise.

As fear and foreboding take their toll
among the nervous and volatile
the peace and self-confidence wane
as the shadow lengthens  o’er the terrain.

© Sometimes, 2016

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