In the good times;
the rich oppress the poor.
In the bad times;
the poor get their revenge.
And the bad times always come.
Be afraid;
be happy.
Your time will come again;
if you don’t die now.
Will it be the Mob;
with a guillotine?
Or a trial;
with a noose?
There is a pattern;
to what we call random.
There is a path;
we all fall down.
I see a changing world;
with light at the end.
We will have love.
We will have peace.
But, we will have hate for a bit.
Death is the fuel for life.
Collapse holds the seed;
for re-building.
Out of destruction;
comes hope.
And we need hope.
The old way is dying.
A new way is coming.
The birth pangs are tough;
but the result will come.
And there will be joy in the morning.
(Photograph: Bridge over the Wabash River in Vincennes, Indiana)
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