Yesternight I saw rangers in the sky
What were they shooting? I know not if you ask
And oceans a close to the Sun that never dry
And a vagabond painting the earth red in the dark
He wore extinction as eyes
And the Night Himself as shoes
He had elongated hands as cold as ice
And daunting initions darkened by the brightest sloes
I looked through the constellations
We laid fragile, ready for destruction
Cried, wailed, moaned but who’s our salvation?
Dangling in whirls, is this what we called home?
©Ekow Annan
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