Penultimate

Penultimate

No, No! Nothing is fixed or final

Yet it’s not moving at all

Rehearse the hearse,

or the womb you’d like to nurse

Reject it or welcome,

There is always one more to come.

Flowers will drop or form into fruits without a trace,

Babies will seed from the gentle Grace,

Yet monuments and buildings re-built

Without remorse, or any bit of Guilt.

Reject it or welcome,

There is always one more to come.

Powers play on the stage once more,

As Kids and Children fight to death –

All have points so proud to score,

The lands in vain go out of breath.

Reject it or welcome,

There is always one more to come.

Rats will scare the cats again,

Until the piper plays the flute,

The mourning mayor is still in pain

has left the Town, so immune and mute.

Reject it or welcome,

There is always one more to come.

Farmers decide not to plough the Land

So fighters beyond reach go begging for grain.

Women decide not to be Mothers again

Those wombs that bleed in moan and pain

Might never fight for right or greed

Become a horror, or snatched to the battlefield.

Yet there is just one more to come,

Reject it or welcome.

Beauty and bliss will never cease,

In the days to come as those bygone,

Sense will crush the films and seize,

Yet nothing sinks when the show is on.

Reject it or welcome,

There is always one more to come.

No, No! Nothing is fixed or final

Yet it’s not moving at all

Good or glad; bad or sad,

our own tribunal

Reject it or welcome,

There is always one more to come.