Amongst the downfall of sleeping armies

I’ve seen your authoritarian temples, marked inlay soundscapes to the blunt end of the instrument
sounds too petitioned for rogue scallops on Sunday bread with leavers upon the leisurely windowpane
too discerning to be scouted off like a tempered meter all above the size of scourged templed earth
like a delicate embrace between the fathers of Bismarck with weathered channels’s chancellors
too mistaken to be as brave as Greta, not with the solidifying grasp she brings to courts disgraced
there are too many steepened foreign glass trumpets that do not sing of Her, Her embrace, Her
remorse for the guilt we all share in the lack of community standing atop weathered, downed retreat
though we should stand to appeals, we refrain from self-harm out of the need to protect our families

However, there is one bet She is willing to make, one solitary guiding principle God finds certain
She says, those who will follow me will find solace in the coming days, when all is black-caverns,
when all is winter, like a cloud of defeat among the nocturnal discussions of human endeavors, in
humanity will not suffice itself to be a poem, or a song, or a loved one found safe, no, but willingness
will be our guide if we can at least avoid being absorbed by the willow-telling tale, reshaped memory
of rocks surface county blind vengeful ghost that do not see where they are going, or rehearse blind
victory under palms of golden-gray, like a skylight upon the witful catastrophe of darling orange-grey
Be the amusement and the charm of God’s speaking agents, amongst the downfall of sleeping armies
And chant the last victory song against the abuse of this Earth’s people, against the abuse of capital selves, and ontology of difference, dispelling forgetfulness like it was a neighbor to our shameful night