Midnight Poem by Suzette Richards

The hands of the Art Nouveau clock nearing midnight.
A bat, with its wings hugging itself in sleep,
the metronomic sound of Josef Kratina's clock
lulling it into a false sense of security.
Plato's truth— long forgotten perceptions
as shadows play on the wall,
teased out by light from the wall scones.

The Doomsday Clock: human agents teasing fate?
As the shadow of a nuclear war is looming large
over long forgotten reality of pain and suffering
falsely attributed to just one aggressor.
The clamorous sound of posturing politicians
who wouldn't bat an eye as long as they are out of harm's way,
hold the future in the palm of their hands.