“Basket-weaving”

The Distributist

The Distributist

Dissident discourse in a post-modern age.

As Autumn lumens falter; the winter shadows grow
The portent's dismal future has now begun to show
A dire age is dawning where once was promised ease
Cruel decadence is spawning from indulgence long-appeased. 

The old world long in dying, its vigor stripped away
Whence demons once thought banished, return now to the fray.
As nations oft do languish, misplaced their cherished joy
When forests of their proving are exchanged for yeast and soy.

And the wicked do now gather in places low and mean 
To build a cell for human-kind entombed in their machine
And though they lie quite plainly, the silence here does roar
That those who stand divided will one day stand no more.

The better hearts of yester-year why are they now so rare? 
The worst find mad conviction, the rest a cold despair
The teachers once who sowed the land with knowledge broad and true
Have turned their charges eyes astray to fascinations new.

So squandered was the harvest-time when stronger breeds could grow
The field was set to fallow, then strangled by the snow
Our orchards now near-barren, fruit scattered far and thin
Yet bearing baskets broad with hope, may some be gathered in?

For few the hands are needed to keep the fires lit
Dreams of a new tomorrow upheld with faith and grit 
And those who witness coming a night both hard and long 
Upon a shared conviction may forge a common bond 

So through the twisting web-ways, send out a softened call 
To reach the long lost children, the remnants of our fall
For in great times of trial, good souls will always cleave
When bonds of lasting friendship, brave men together weave.