Twilight

The rain falls upon the earth

In a manner devoid of meaning

And purpose, but yet a word alone

Yields you dark cloud across the sun;

It reminds you of the solitude

Of the postwar dreaming

And your prophetic refrain—

Yea, sing of your visions

Visions not of gold, but of steel

Of wrought-iron wishes and fallow flesh

Fell beasts and sins of the fathers

Brought forth into the light

Ignored without reason

As the flames stretch from heaven to earth—

Yea, sing of your fates

Fates not of gold, but of steel

Of warring visage and folded forgery

Faded bands of longing in the moonlight

Surrendered for sacrificial hopes

Bringing tragedy, dying a hundred

Or a thousand small deaths—

Yea, sing of your fortunes

Fortunes not of gold, but of steel

Of waning victories and fallen fantasies

Fettered blood and stolen dreams

A nuclear refrain

Resilient, with a price, offering nothing

But cold-blooded redemption.

But somehow nothing is certain

At the end of all things

When fire you fight with fire

And blood you fight with blood.