Two Visions
There are two visions of the present
Two eternal visions of the future.
In both visions peace will come.
One is a field of peaceful green,
The other of peaceful brown.
A vision of Horror:
They gather round to try to bury the dead.
Mothers bury their sons,
Fathers bury their daughters.
Grandparents bury both children and grandchildren,
and then bury each other.
Like Zombies they walk beneath a dying sun.
And reflect on the hate that brought them peace.
And try to gather the unburied, who litter the earth,
Their bodies picked by scavengers.
A vision of peace
They gather around to celebrate,
To welcome home sons and daughters.
Children dance on their grandparents knees.
And everyone dances beneath a warm spring sun.
A Vision of Horror
The wagons are circled around,
and there are enemies everywhere.
Zombies in armies fight one another.
And horror defines life after vengeful life.
The preachers strut their stuff on stage,
and arm their followers with hate and explosives
Zombified with faith in their preachers.
A million armed camps, a million ghastly fires,
As people prepare their isolation.
A million visions float upside down;
"We will bring peace by killing the evil enemy."
A Vision of peace
The wagons are circled around
and everyone is having a festival inside!
Young people of all sorts dance!
Defining their joy by getting to know each other
The preachers strut their stuff on stage,
comparing and contrasting, listening to each other,
sharing enlightenment and dumping nonsense
Arming their followers with faith, tolerance and understanding.
A million joyous camps, a million lovely fires,
As people prepare their joyous visions,
and construct lovely pavilons with clean water flowing down,
to a shared and joyous peaceful green sea.
A field of peaceful green
I see the green coming anyway.
Brown is only the result of people fearfully clinging upside down.
Come out of the ground!
Brilliant green, brilliant blue, life, chose life!
And humanity too!
Open the doors to your campfires,
and gather round,
to hear a million billion stories,
and a loving sound.
All punctuated by royal drums,
And flowers falling all around.
Chris
(with homage to Prufrock)