Tomorrow, in the Ark: A poem 

I laughed at his desperation 

though the blood went cold in my veins 

I was unable to bid for insurrection 

I was all locked up in chains 

Greed and selfishness go in vain 

in the ambushed meadows of the slain 

I could have shot him, but shot the other one 

Madness is a method when it’s done 

There was an endless deluge from the rain 

All the seasons that caused me pain 

I did not weep over my soul lain 

in beds that were bloodstained 

I wished him to go, but paused to consider 

that good needs evil like a rudder 

And in such sorrow, I knew my tomorrow 

he couldn’t steal and borrow 

For when the bird flies at the dog’s bark 

the pigs will leave their mark 

Ducks too will roam the Ark 

And the manes of horses and lions will flame with sparks