The World is Wrong

The world is wrong

I watch the decay

of an Autumn day

and wonder

when was it

the song had stopped?

Was it when we thought?

Thought of better times

or better not?

When cautionary tales

ruled every step

we brought?

The world is wrong

I listen in the silence

ushered in by dread,

by draft of doubt

when spoken word

is heavy as lead

When stout of heart

quake at mornings light

at what the day might bring

people to their knees

from the sheer weight

of what it sings?

When we live forever

in the steps ahead

in that secret dread

and wonder

what is it we are waiting for

and fear the answering sword

The world is wrong