The Time Of Our Lives

by
James Strauss

The beginnings of salvation,
Do not lay at culture’s foundation.
They twist and roll, tortured and misplaced,
Just above the turning bowels of my nation.

When will the pain fail to suffice,
These beings of evil better known as ice.
They move in gangs of crowded cowards,
Intent on icy itching pain like that of lice.

When will this periodic era of pain,
Be measured like flooding levels of rain.
What will it take to blow them all to hell,
Without our county’s warriors going insane.

Our father who art in heaven, sure not here,
Will your will be done to allay and end this fear.
My people cannot take another portion,
Of this bitter gruel served like old stale beer.

Drink of this without hearing nation’s ring,
I’ll be content by doing nothing but pray and sing.
Is it not time to face into this growing storm,
And let these ruling demons feel a deadly sting.