The Tempest

A Tempest

on the horizon.

Heading our way.

Invisible to the blind, unheard by the deaf,

hidden by others.

Scoffed at by many.

Still it comes, pushed by forces as yet unseen.

Who will see it for what it is?

Before it is too late.

Who will be swept away by it’s destruction?

Who will sit on their hands and bleep like sheep?

Not I.

I see through the curtain they’ve been hiding behind.

They have exposed themselves, do you not see?

Take off those blinders, remove that lead from around your neck.

You are on your knees

and are unaware.