The Lasting Hope
a recombinant homolinguistic version of Keats’ The Second Coming
Now a vision from the great beyond
Dazzles me, a mirage in the shade of the pyramids;
Riddling Sphinx overhead, staring
Blankly across the sun-bleached land,
Hips slowly grinding up a storm
While desert birds reel in greed.
Again I am in shadowscape, but now
Memory teaches that an eternity of darkness
Fears the warmth of one single votive,
And what, do you suppose,
Is upon us?
Lost in a spin,
The hawk cannot see the ground;
And things do go to Hell in a handbasket,
For everyone, everywhere and
The one thing everyone agrees on:
These are the days when
Heroes are needed.
Certainly one will arise;
Certainly our needs will be met in the end days.
The end days. How impossible that seems.