#WritcoPoemChallange
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The days too eventually fell silent,
Still also, the footfalls of the migrant,
No fires, no, none tapped a hydrant,
Although all heard,
The Pronouncements of The Tyrant,

No sounds, not even by the crows,
Empty shelves, bare in their rows,
Prairie dogs, stayed in their holes,
Chill settled, in all our souls,

All one could hear was the sound of,
Fear knocking on the doors,
Sickness oozing from pores,
Or elders missing cherished whores,

So, we sat, on plain wooden floors,
Having stocked the family stores,
Caught up on myriad old chores,
Hugged, and laughed till complaint of sores,

Reminesced of the start,
Those Towers,

Speculated the intentions of,
The Powers,

And waited for Change to come.

Perhaps with the next,
Early morning Sun,

And wondered,
If I had excepted,
That even though,
All were tempted,
To finally,
Down deep within,
To gift all & give in,

Knowing, yet accepted,
Despite all sign,
And the death,
Of The Decrepid,
That none could argue Truth,
Or The Unique Perfection,
Of all present,
And their place in Creation.


RESPECTFULLY,

A. Yobi B.