The dawning paints the night sky gray
And rising with the sun
The man takes up the growing day
And Empire begun
The shining mountains, caps aflame
Rise in the morning mist
He knows those mountains he must claim
‘Fore entering the list
At noon he stands on heights so cold
The morning long he climbed
The treasure peaks of shimmered gold
With icy diamonds rimed
Into the late day sun he sits
Upon his lofty throne
The sun the sun of Austerlitz
The world was his alone
Unto the dusk his word was king
His bidding instant done
But others struggled for his ring
And come the setting sun
The man now old laid burdens down
And entered into sleep
And dreamed the dreams of past renown
With memories to keep
While others, younger, come the dawn
Saw golden mountains glow
And to the ice rimed mountains drawn
An empire to grow

How wondrous is the stately tree
A lake, a glen, a meadowlark
A frozen stream, its icy banks
Concealing creatures with life’s spark
We walk the Earth and stride the stars
Imagination’s silver ships
Will take us where the distance becks
And shower nectar on our lips
The universe’s magic glow
The beauty of its wondrous mien
Is ours to share with all who live
And who, like us, live all unseen

The United States is engulfed in a Cold Civil War that will end in darkness, with not even a false dawn to relieve the horror of what is to come. The left has won, at least for now. The Millennials generation, having been told repeatedly by their professors that the United States is evil, believe it, and now prefer socialism to capitalism. Unchecked illegal immigration is changing the culture more rapidly than Facebook or Google could ever dream. We are now a country of separate and enemy identities, each clawing for the top place at the table. The Cold Civil War was created by the left, and will not turn hot until the people with the guns decide they will not easily give up their country. Until then, the only prospect is the darkness of the grave.

There are no shadows in the dark
What can’t be seen does not exist
What once was many into one
Is now a lie all must resist
Demographics rule the tide
Culture changes left from right
The gloried past is now no more
False dawns will not replace the night
But darkness too must see an end
The Left cannot erase us all
The weathered gravestones tell the tale
Of what was lost beyond recall

At the beginning of March the UN, including Russia, agreed to a 30 day cease fire in Syria to allow civilians to leave the fighting zones. The cease fire failed, and the US gave the Russians notice that when the 30 days have passed without a cease fire they would take action against Syrian forces killing civilians. Russia reacted by threatening to retaliate if the US took any action against Syrian forces. If neither blinks, will military engagement between the US and Russia follow, and if so will that engagement escalate into full scale war? And so we wait to see if someone blinks.

With red lines drawn in bloody sand
Who will then blink, and who demand
Obeisance to the fisted hand
And who will grovel first?
Two scorpions, in bottle caught
Both knowing that the very thought
Of backing down is deeply fraught
With worse becoming worst
And so the dance in bottle sways
The feints, the never launched affrays
The pointed tail always delays
Though each for battle thirst
And so do red lines come and go
The scorpions both fully know
If feint becomes a nuclear blow
Then both for ages cursed

The purpose of the Obama led campaign to undermine President Trump by poisoning the well of public opinion with the false charge of Russian collusion is to regain power in the midterms of 2018 and regain the White House in 2020. It is in Putin’s interest that this be accomplished because he knows that a Democrat in the White House will use the phone and the pen of executive orders to stop fracking and offshore drilling, thus enhancing Russia’s economy by restoring Russia’s oil market, for without the sale of oil the Russian economy cannot support Putin’s military plans for the near abroad and the Middle East. We need look no further for the man whose interests coincide with Putin’s interests. That man is Barack Obama.

At first in gentle drizzle fell
The misty scent of rain
That lingered near the poisoned well
Where Barack’s hand had lain
And bade the poison fill the sky
To spread the poison wide
Subvert Intel and FBI
To Obama’s dark side
Brennan, Clapper, Comey too
Succumbed to the campaign
To hide their treachery from view
And stand in poisoned rain

The Nile existed before time
And flowed unvexed to inland sea
Through empty lands at once sublime
But knowing what would one day be
The flowing waters saw the rise
Of temple builders on its shores
Of Pharaoh kings who ruled the skies
And Caesars settling old scores
Napoleon would come to grief
From Nelson’s guns at Aboukir
She’s seen it all without relief
Elation, joy and troubled fear
The flow of time she understands
A thousand years is but a day
She watched hard rocks become fine sands
And cares not what the gods may say

In the beginning there was nothing
Though the nothing wasn’t there
So there could be no beginning
Without someone on the stair
A someone who stepped lightly
As he rose with weary tread
With his fingers brushed the handrail
As he went upstairs to bed
Where he dreamed of streaming starlight
As the galaxies were formed
And his hand set them in motion
As the cold of space was warmed
As he dreamed a thought came to him
Many worlds would come to life
Though he knew that his new creatures
Would be born to war and strife
It was there the dream had ended
In the morning he awoke
And his house was filled with starlight
As the dawn upon him broke
Through his window he saw blossoms
Moving gently with the breeze
In a bright and verdant pasture
Stretching to the distant trees
He turned and on the landing
He thought of all the cares
His dream had set in motion
Then he started down the stairs

I was born in the first year of the Herbert Hoover administration, and thus have witnessed the imperceptible slide of my country and its people from the comfort of my easy chair. The perception of the Great Depression by a small boy has no bearing on the reality of the Depression, but by the end of World War 2 my view of the country and its people was colored by the perception of infinite might and promise. Instead, starting in the 1960s, I witnessed a slow dissolve into identity politics and the collapse of the Democratic Party into the party of the Radical Left with the accession into power of Senator George McGovern, who was the floor leader in 1948 of the Democratic convention presidential candidate Henry Wallace, a Stalinist fellow traveler. In 1972 McGovern was the Democratic Party nominee for president, and even though he was crushed by Nixon in the 1972 election, the country had reached a hinge point. The Democratic Party was now completely captured by the Hard Left with the abandonment of the Southern Democrats to the Republicans, leaving no conservative voices at all in the Democratic Party. And that is where we are today. In my lifetime we have gone, imperceptible, from a democratic republic to a democratic peoples’ republic, where the Left pursues the goal of permanent and absolute power. I am inclined to believe I will live to see a time when the Constitution will be amended to allow only the Democratic Party to rule, and I will no doubt be forced to tip my hat every morning to my local neighborhood commissar.

Perception is reality
Reality perception
We live in times of smiley talk
But all is cold deception
The president will try his best
To change our stark condition
But Trump is but a small speed bump
On the dark road to perdition

In total dark the dull red eyes
Crept up my arm and in my ear
They whispered soothing, soft spoke lies
Then told me they were never here
I lay in bed too scared to move
As tiny wolves licked at my toes
They smiled and said as if to prove
That all was well, that’s how it goes
My telephone will ring at night
I hear the breathing soft and still
The silent voices give me fright
I rise and then against my will
I call the tiny wolves to say
That I will do what they may please
A dulcet tone says not today
So far you’ve only had the tease

The tyrant’s crown so lightly lies
Upon smooth brow and smiling eyes
It’s gleaming gold in sunlight glows
In beauty measured by the rose
And yet doth he who wears the crown
Record the days that wind him down
Until the time of one last breath
When gold will not forbid him death