If I could climb to the top of the world
And see the past and all that was
I’d want to see the western plains
Before the wire.
The buffalo in their vast herds
So many that the dust lay thick
In air that would admit no sun
Before the wire.
Horse tribes wandering the knee high grass
Travois dragging all they owned behind
Horse herds all the wealth they cared for
Before the wire.
Villages along the streams
Raiding parties setting out
Painted dancers, fire lit
Before the wire.
The scene grows dim from the top of the world
The buffalo, Comanche fade
‘Til all is gently waving grass
Before the wire

We think that we could never know a flower
Or never ever truly know a cat
Though once I had a talk with a meower
He told me go away and that was that
Another time I saw him by the window
I offered him a sip of sparkling wine
He shook his head but said he’d take some gin though
It’s better with the mice on which he’d dine
I asked him if he ever knew a flower
He smiled and said it’s better not to know
He said that if he ever had the power
He’d plant himself in ground and start to grow
She was so gorgeous standing in the sunlight
So fair, her petals soft and lush with dew
I know I could be with her if it’s done right
But I’m a cat and she’s a lilac blue
I left him there, eyes closed and softly crying
A love forbidden him by nature’s whim
I thought you just can’t blame a man for trying
But thankful all the while that I’m not him

The New York City bicycle path murderer from Uzbekistan was here because he won a “diversity lottery”, a death lottery program obviously devised by someone who believed we did not have enough Muslim killers in our midst. What is destroying the West is not Islam, it is diversity. Islam could never defeat the West without the encouragement and cooperation of the West’s progressive political elite. When the British government released the results for the 2011 census the figures revealed that white Britons were a minority in their own capital city, that Britain’s Muslim population would overtake the native white population in measurable years and that the number of Muslims in the country was wildly underreported as millions of Muslims had not returned the census forms at all, as revealed by the paucity of returned forms from Muslim dominated neighborhoods and cities. All of this was greeted with hosannas by the political and media establishments, and celebrated as a great victory for diversity, a diversity that is leading inevitably to the suicide of Britain, and which the establishment has knowingly brought about by intentional policy. This in a country that had maintained a non-diverse population for a thousand years and ruled the world for two centuries. The bad news, from the point of view of the British political establishment, was that the continent was far ahead of Britain in actual percentages of Muslims per native populations, leading to some to suggest Britain increase its efforts to diversify. And so it goes, throughout the West. In the United States, the Democrat Party is firmly committed to national suicide by its unrelenting opposition to controlled borders and measured and sensible immigration policy.

To die slow death by suicide
Diversity’s the best
Of all the ways the Muslim tide
Can use to kill the West
The Ottomans had vainly tried
And now have final rest
As Muslim women keened and cried
As many did attest
But now Islam has but to hide
Pretend they are a guest
And as the Muslims multiplied
They then could kill the West
Diversity’s how we’ll have died
We never would have guessed
That when diversity’s your guide
You too have final rest

Too late he slept, the night had fled
As windows turned to gray
And wind-borne ghosts circled his bed
While wolves began their play
They mocked him softly all the while
He moved, but did not wake
Dark shadows swam with glinting smile
Upon the darkened lake
Fierce riders thundered with a scream
As phantoms filled the room
And sly hags wove the nightly dream
Upon the magic loom

I was born before the earth was formed
In misty shadows in the lee
Of giant gods who sheltered me
While all about me stormed
My mother was a flickered light
My father held me in his palm
And told me of the sudden calm
That came only at night
When howling wind that never ceased
Blew rain as hard as silver beads
And carried with it magic seeds
That formed both man and beast
There came the time the night so long
Was sundered by the golden beams
That stirred the gods deep in their dreams
To sing to me a song
That told the tale of things to come
Of grace and beauty, laughing joy
And said that I, now but a boy
Would calculate the sum
Of barefoot angels as they danced
On moors where flowered broom stood high
As angel wings reflected sky
A silent I entranced
The gods sang that when time was near
That angels would upon my death
Dance for me on my final breath
And so I have no fear
I smiled and then I whispered aye
And in the sterile hospice room
The angels danced in flowered broom
White wings reflecting sky

Another mass shooting, this time in a small Texas church, before that the New York City bike path and before that Las Vegas, and so on, back into what seems endless time. Every time there is a mass shooting, Las Vegas or Sandy Hook school, or any other atrocity, the shooter’s friends and neighbors say they can’t believe it, he was such a nice, quiet guy, always pleasant, give you the shirt off his back and so forth and so on. But we never know what goes on inside a person’s head until the dead pile up

They say he was a nice guy, mild
Inside his head was deuces wild
Will we find out that as a child
He tortured neighbors’ cats?
How did he get those guns inside
A hotel from where people died
And screamed and ran and fell and cried
Like someone swatting gnats
The term ‘lone wolf’ is just a trope
Designed to maintain the slim hope
That damages are small in scope
And candles will suffice
But wolves all hunt in ordered packs
Coordinate their fierce attacks
And so we must never relax
For life rolls with the dice

I wander through the dusty room
My mind enclosed by distant past
Dark furniture lost in the gloom
Ghosts whispering it could not last
So bright the glow of golden days
When all we wanted seemed so near
We counted not the many ways
The end would come for things held dear
So rich we were that those in need
Were given riches beyond worth
To caution words we paid no heed
We all were kings at time of birth
‘Tis painful now to see the way
The world’s become such bitter ground
We once thought gold but now is clay
The golden time we thought we found
I wander through the dusty room
That is my youth now in decay
And weep for flowers not in bloom
That once were here but could not stay

I sit on sunny window sills and dream of mice and men
And how we’re all the same in many ways
Outside a bird is warbling every song he knows again
That is how he spends his minutes and his days
A squirrel is racing up a tree, he seems to have such fun
While I behind the window pane look on
Not envious or jealous as I sit here in the sun
For come the end of day they’ll all be gone
To where I have no knowledge and in truth I do not care
Tomorrow at the window I’ll be here
To look out at the world so bright, so elegant, so fair
A world so far and yet again so near
A window sill is made for me and all who share my world
For God has made us, each and every one
And I content to sit and watch, so delicately curled
Upon my window sill in golden sun

He lies abed these sleepless nights
And thinks of many things
Of all the many wondrous sights
That each tomorrow brings
The windows turn from dark to gray
The birds are now awake
To celebrate the newborn day
As sunlight paints the lake
Now fully light, the woods ablaze
With autumn’s brilliant hues
He rises and he turns his gaze
To other wondrous views
A pair of deer walk by the fence
Unhurried, unafraid
A squirrel’s tail switches, quite intense
Annoyed by the parade
Meridian comes much too soon
And life slows to a walk
All sleeping now that it is noon
Except the red-tailed hawk
Who circles lazily at height
For the unwary prey
And soon the afternoon is night
As dusk replaces day
The starlit wood stands crystal clear
The moon begins her climb
A hidden owl says naught to fear
It’s midnight says the chime
He sighs and wanders off to bed
Insomnia to fight
He doesn’t mind the daytime dread
But oh the lonely night

The gods and goddesses of ancient Greece did not have human blood, but a magic fluid called ichor, whose boiling point seemed to be very low since they were always threatening to destroy the Earth and all in it. I think we are at that point again, where our behavior has caused the ichor of the gods to reach the boiling point, where the gods and goddesses decide to end it all and start over.

The Gods would often bicker
Over who had better ichor
While the Goddesses looked on and often smirked
Lesser mortals suffered greatly
Keeping mansions clean and stately
For Elites who ruled but never ever worked
Life was good for those on top while
Those below cried out to stop while
Judges cried in horror to see written laws
Disobeyed in certain quarters
Causing unrest and disorders
That caused both the Gods and Goddesses to pause
And declare the world was over
As they sowed the fields with clover
And the buildings and the highways turned to dust
Showing life is just a flicker
Should it ire the Gods’ ichor
For the Gods spare not the good from the unjust