The earth is gods and goblins ev’rywhere,
Host of antagonists attacking good
Through counterfeit and subterfuge, like wood
Too wet or rotten to be useful, fair
Of form but fearsome, felling those who dare
Distrust the king, stand where the prince has stood,
Lay claim the throne as if they ever could
Create, control, or care. But though the air
Be dark with smoke, there blows a hopeful breeze
That parts at points the shroud and shows the sky
And lets in light and warmth and something more:
A whisper of an answer to our pleas.
The king’s return is sure and drawing nigh.
He will arrive and bring an end to war.

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Photo by Kym MacKinnon on Unsplash