Dripping dew

A rumble in the sky, 
a croon dews down at dusk.
In drought, it drips all night, 
at times a light shower, then a torrent; 
thaws crusted hearts behind shuttered doors. 
         Life blooms, flowers at dawn
causing the earth to know no winter 
but spring and summer; and spring 
streaming to summer. I hum 
the rich ballad while my heart croons 
a continuous refrain. I cuddle the lullaby, think
        no more of the dark hours of howling storm. 
Awake, I drip honey, 
        infused with life. So real:
              God’s pristine love.

The world wilts, 
withers from stanching 
the flow of heaven’s dew. 
It loves romance with death, 
stench of blood down the streets;
       death gasps, a melody.
There was once life, 
        and still is! 

His voice rumbles. 
I hear it croon from turrets, 
in booms and blasts; it shrills 
at irreversible drift to a brink, 
        the end of life. 

If cost of arms 
had armed the poor;
turrets of rage aimed at morbid hate, 
love would’ve stanched the flow of death, 
dew down heaven’s tune, flood the earth 
        with sweet refrain.
© 2016 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi

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