The Legend Of Blackmorrow Poem by John Weber

The horrors began with a hush
as banking empires locked their doors
to balance grand consolidations
and whittle tender values down.

Upon resurrection, crowds gathered
attempting to withdraw marrow wealth.
Rotting complacency filled the vaults
while floating paper clogged the aisles.

We slumped on curbs without rent,
begging for food priced beyond range.
Work dwindled with no business loans,
seething mobs raged through the streets.

Tricked humans succumbed to changes
demanded by the serpent line,
implants to track and shape the flesh
as decreed by prodigal lies.

Rival factions gathered forces
fighting networks of gridwork goons
with just sticks and fists aimed to quash
haughty golems gunning to kill.

In the cripple caverns, kids wailed
at each mortar shell blasting through.
Some reached for guns, or drugs, or love,
yet seldom did they feel alive.

Above the clamor of destruction
rose a voice of reason and passion
asking with tenacity why we
chose to buy the lies of these tyrants.

          'No time left to borrow:
          black day, black morrow!
          We alone can end this sorrow.'

Left and right, we lowered our guard
as brother recognized brother
behind the grim technology,
rising as one mass to reclaim life.

In a voice filled with conviction
our defender offered just plans
as the bulldog of liberty
he opened our eyes to the guise.

It took seven days for us to meet
at the seat of all benediction
with the heart of the globe resounding
to humanity's cries for redemption.

Whenever evil looms to hunt
I stand firm upon my beliefs
thanks to Blackmorrow's quest for fact
and the grace of united souls.