{"sf1_id":1702506,"sf2_id":"dmB65Xm6","title":"Curse on a Deserving Land","author":"Rob MacWolf","words":393,"posted_at":"2021-04-03T06:24:00.000Z","tags":["Couplets","Hexameter","Poetry","lyric"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1702506-curse-on-a-deserving-land","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/dmB65Xm6","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/b8/a8/b8a830fc-ac15-41e0-a6c9-bfd4a819f599","description":"#20 of poetry\n\n2020 was the year I got serious about practical neo-paganism.\nOne left. Almost done. I keep saying that like once I've posted the last of the angry, bitter, downer poems I wrote in 2020 that'll somehow undo the year, and it will drift off into unreality.\nI mean... here's hoping.","content":"Dark clouds gather at the edge of the sky.\n\nWe have one last reckoning, you and I.  \nAnd you've never met me, you don't know my name,\n\nBut you are my murderer just the same.\n\nIn the dust was my living. Unto dust I return.  \nAnd when have you shown the slightest concern?\n\n  \n\nYou've declared everything your property\n\nBut there's a god for the slave and he's setting us free.\n\nYou're comfortably accustomed to giving commands,\n\nBut winter don't listen, and won't stay his hand.  \nYou've built out of money an eminent seat.  \nNow money's the only thing you'll have to eat.  \n  \nDance with me, honey, one last time  \nWe're already dead. So everything's fine.  \nDance in the dust till it all blows away.\n\nA mighty wind's coming, or so they say.  \n  \nYou name yourself safe from the world that you made\n\nBut there's a god in the mountain and I think you're afraid.\n\nHe's thinking on vengeance and his mind's going dark\n\nOver field, over fen, over national park.\n\nThere's fires'll be burning, and no way to fight.\n\nYou sold the fire department yesterday night.\n\n  \n\nDance with me, honey, one last time  \nWe're already dead. So everything's fine.  \nDance in the dust till it all blows away.\n\nA mighty wind's coming, one of these days.\n\n  \n\nYou've said your piece a hundred times and one  \nBut there's a god overhead, of tempest and tongue.\n\nHe's heard, who has not? how the truth you despise.\n\nFrom such he shall take away even the lies.\n\nA breeze stirs thinly, and the wind turns round\n\nSo that you may hear the terrible sound:\n\nThe voices of the living. Voices of the dead.\n\nThe hurricane howling for your guilty head.\n\nYou've lied your way out of troubles before\n\nBut the wind's coming someday, of that I am sure.\n\nDark clouds shall sweep you out of the sky.\n\nThere'll be nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide.  \nYou'll cry to the gods and they will speak not your name,\n\nThey'll say \"as you did to others, to us just the same.\"\n\nAnd what happens after, I shall not care.  \nMy friend, that's your problem. That's none of my affair.\n\n  \n\nSo dance with me honey, one last time.\n\nWe're already dead. So everything's fine.  \nDance in the dust, just for today.\n\nA mighty wind's coming, to blow us away.\n\n  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"poetry","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1702504-i-switch-off-all-the-lights.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1702508-the-sisters-of-vengeance.json"}}