Foretold Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The world spins, a gentle blue,
But shadows creep, a chilling hue.
A war unfolds, a senseless fight,
Where darkness swallows up the light.

No flags are raised in victory's gleam,
Only silence by a poisoned stream.
The birds are gone, the flowers weep,
A vacant promise buried deep.

The news proclaims, with urgent breath,
Of looming doom, of whispered death.
The Holy Book, they say, foretold,
A world grown weary, lost, and cold.

The edge is near, the precipice steep,
Where dreams dissolve and spirits weep.
But hope remains, a flickering spark,
In human hearts, against the dark.

For minds can build, and hands can mend,
A better future, without end.
Intelligence, a guiding star,
To lead us from this endless war.

Let reason bloom, a gentle grace,
And find compassion in its place.
Let kindness speak, a soothing tone,
A peaceful world, a world well known.

Whisper of moonlight, soft and low,
A promise waits, for seeds to grow.
Let's choose the path, where love resides,
And leave behind the war that hides.

T.M.Solvang