A personal composition
We sit here in the stillness of the night, remembering the sunset and looking toward the dawn.
The day that ended not so very long ago was a day of hope. The day we soon shall see cresting the horizon is to be a day of fear.
We are the remnant, the faithful few. We are the ones who fought to change the day to come. We are the ones whose eyes have been opened.
But the masses are blind, blind as they always have been. Deceived by silver-tongued promises and slippery deceit, they fall further into the trap of the sly serpent and offer up to him the coming days.
And we the remnant, we faithful few, lie in the stillness of this deceptive calm of night, longing for the sunset that ended all too soon, and watching the horizon with hearts full of dread for the dawn.
Four days we have given to the serpent; four days have we to suffer the folly of men. Four days have we to cry out for mercy and pray this scourge of blindness be lifted.
Four days we shall wander in the darkness, led by the blindest of us all.
Four days we shall sink deeper into the mire of the silver-tongued serpent.
Four days we shall have to learn what we have done wrong.
Four days we shall have to bemoan our folly.
And when the four days end, we the remnant, we faithful few, shall again sit here, in the stillness of night, awaiting a new dawn.
Will the hearts of men turn? Will the eyes of men open? Will the tongue of the serpent be stilled? Will men give the new day to the righteous?
Or will we yet again sit here in the darkness, longing for the sunset past, and dreading yet the dawn?
