The Poet Soldier Pt.3

At twilight's last gleaming, the poet soldier portended the perilous night ahead. Dawn's early light might yet be years away. This land's legacy and futurity weighed equally upon his frame. The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune might set him in his grave before this land regained it's past glory and glorious gain. He had only this opportunity to prove his oratory sound. Past prosperity now past, parity proved illusive. The people of this land divided dividends into have and have-not as never seen before. Those few with stacks of coins they owned grew their stacks ever higher, while those with none fell further behind in coins they owed. A situation exagarated by his predecessor's predatory plunderings. This fell upon his shoulders with all the weight of all the wait in the world. But wait was what he could not do. While waiting for things to turn to better, things turned to worse, 'till nothing overtook everything.



Moneylenders lent only to those with property or security enough to repay or repossess. Men with dreams and women with wile were told to look to other sources nonexistant to fund their future. Dreams and wile remained in lip-serviced limbo. Those that had refused to open their vaults somehow convinced the powers that had been to fill their coffers with treasures borrowed from the generations that had never yet been born. Golden gifts bestowed upon rancid hearts created rancor among the masses. Great in number, diminutive in power, dissmissed in decisions, the masses aforementioned found no recourse but in devined, destined revolution. Marks that marked their votary vouched their choice for change. The weight of the world, the wait of the land would wait no longer.



This was a land of clever people. Their innovations a product of inspirations, their ingenuity of genius light, adaptable and adroit, they seemed to always find a better way to do the things to do. For far too long they always found the better way first; second seemed a distant last. Now the present seemed a past, the future far away. Today the need was great for greatness. A greeting of green beginings seemed the greatness needed. For if he could, the poet soldier would, lead the cleverest of these clever people to the greenest pastures of accomplishment. The sun and the winds and the tides shone and blew and rose and fell each day upon the shores and fields of this land. If only the sun and wind and tide could be commanded and directed to the benefit of the people, none would be so bereaved or so bereft. The benefits of untold bounty might be the catalyst of creativitity leading to blessed betterment. Conservation, efficiency and savings were words not heard in generations of gusto and greed. These words in active being might also lift the clouds of despair that seemed to hover in threatening grey.



Appointments needed to be made to positions that governed the decisions of the land. These new minds and hearts would, with God's grace, lift the people of the land to levels and heights desired and dreamed of once again. But only if the minds and hearts of those appointed positioned themselves to serve the governed, not the governing. Much more and this weighed heavy on the mind of the poet soldier as he made way for the twilight's last gleaming.