Hunting the Future

I listen in the silent night to the silent storm of black and white Its massive serpents head crowned against the sky. Its horns are eagles, wings on high. Its glistening eyes, forbidding sleep for those who wish to crawl away and hide and miss the chance of an Eagles ride far above the soul and fire light. Towards a borrowed dawn that neither gives or takes, or forgives the sins of greed's mistakes. A brief chance to leave this ancient place that lies dried and marked like old footprints in the sand that wander without heart or eyes, or a strangers stand. That long ago dream of a dreamless snake The million doors that the future bore_ only one is left. All the rest are sold and the sun is almost set into this silent night. -- Michael Robinson