all the lyrics
that i hear
now sound
apocalyptic.
but when the sun
hit the poplar trees
this morning
the wild parrots
screamed as usual.
for them i believe
it's a chorus
born of joy.
to us it sounded
like a ruckus.
the calendar
feels like a clock,
the unimaginable
coming round and round
at the stroke of midnight
as we begin each day
in darkness, waiting
for the dawn,
in faith that it will come.
and the light will shine
on blood and flowers,
and sparkle on the waters
and the towers
of this new babylon.
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