Before Then

The Sunday Morning Conference Call

Was set in stone

Though they all could have been

Elsewhere

They met

Unable to undo the hurt

And fear

they caused

to make the trees not want to grow

or the roses not want to bloom

Unwillingly

the sun shining much less

and the moon crying for the stars

They were the universe

before the curse spelled out in verse

that it would no longer support

the full life span

created for woman and man

But as fear became hate

such vile would fill the plate

While their tongues become the scepters

to trade disgrace for taste

Not recognizing air

before egg on their face

The hour was near

Yet they all went fishing

Wickedly on

a Sunday Morning conference call

Reviews

[Shay]

Wow, that your poem is really good. I enjoyed it :D

[.]

~ a disturbing tale... brilliantly narrated with amazing images like in "to make the trees not want to grow / or the roses not want to bloom"... it seems like these people were / are full of hatred...