LAST CYCLE © 2008
The family union, the sacred shelter,
Generations that follow, in a marked cycle.
The daily toil, harvesting the grain,
And the comfort that arises in every gaze.
The bonds are strong, cohesive in being,
Minds clarified, ready to see.
Illusion in fury flashes in the eyes,
But the beacons remain steadfast, in the certainty it promises.
Maximums lit, blinding those who come,
Who do not deviate, bound to their disdain.
And in the gutters, the twisted fate,
Finds bad luck, on the lost path.