The Fire Of The Gods

Ring around a rosey
Pocket full of posey
All fall down
A deadly strain of Ebola is ravaging West Africa. People don’t trust hospitals, don’t trust the European doctors who risk their lives to care for them, and throw the bodies in the street where they infect others. The UN has responded to the crisis by holding a meeting. During the bubonic plague in Europe in the Middle Ages, people thought holding a bouquet of flowers to the nose would keep you alive. It didn’t. They all fell down. And neither will throwing bodies into the street or holding meetings keep you alive. The gods care not for posies or meetings, it all ends in the fire of the stars.

So small they seem, so distant far
Some call them Stella, others Star
And while they seem but points of light
They fill the sky of darkest night
Along the vast ecliptic plane
The stars as dense as summer rain
Galactic center bright as snow
Beckon us with fire glow
The gods look down on tiny man
From heights that only god can scan
Infinity as some would say
And all constructed in a day
The gods of man so small in size
Claim all we see is but a prize
Created thus despite the odds
Bequeathed to us by they the gods
And yet the stars so fiercely burn
That man in time will surely learn
That right is right and wrong is wrong
And heed them all the psalmist’s song

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