THE TRAIL OF A LIBERAL DEMOCRACY
Passing through postmodern nationalistic
states of maddened fervor,
we left tracks in graveyards
while strutting and ranting diatribes of freedom
from less than disciplined cultures.
Offering platitudes to pained and seeking souls,
great pictures did we paint
with hubrised flourished strokes
of democratic shadows.
So convinced we were of self
and visions of eternal truths
released to us in sunsets filled with glory,
we mounted hill-tops.
And finally there,
we are found in muslined fashion,
dropping to our knees,
surrendering in a piteous bowing
to Mother Earth and kissing dust
we murmured, “We are sorry.”
It was done.
From The Twelfth Hour: A Collection, Don Davison
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