Member Poem

In cold tomorrows
born of greed
there is no care
for man or beast,
no forest shade
or dappled green.
A great gray snake
of mythic creed
encircles the globe
with its reptile breed.

In darkling futures
born of Moloch's seed,
spawned by a rage
of bullish deeds,
the lion lies down
with the lamb
to render its fleece,
the eagle flies with
the dove only
to snap its neck
with predatory speed.

In grim scenarios
framed by barbed wire
and smoldering kerosene,
the moments stutter
by on severed knees.
The meek inherit
a tumbling stone.
Dread warriors'
trophies are screams.

Children are shaken
awake in the night,
forced into flight,
before they can
follow their dreams.

Appeared in The Magazine of Speculative Poetry, 1990