GDG- The Locust God

[jack]

                                                                THE LOCUST 
GOD



Cows lowed in mossy leas, barns bright with fresh paint where blood would 
soon festoon each weathered board.

Quaint town of immigrant, rural heart and hard plow asking that the Lord 
allow His blind grace.
Town of farms by Lord embraced till now.


Germans turned the sod to wheat, built the miles of jagged fence through the 
jewel of Adams County soon to scatter on the ground.


June's last day of Sixty-three  morning mist soon vapored up, giving way to 
haze.
Hot and haggered, rebels staggered up the streets and into fate.
Wanted things they'd fought without: food and shoes and coffee.
Voiced their plaint with naught a threat,sweaty boys in ragged clothes.
Each a soul with flesh worn thin, ill-used and far from home.


Gettysburg had given sons, war ate primogeniture left with land, they 
cradled corn and commerce took the place of love.


'Locust God' was sleeping sound till thirty June of Sixty-three.
Cosmic shifting shook him, whispered "Time is nigh for Hell to come."


He raised one scaly, lidded eye to look, and necromanced the Hun.
Every lowing meadow felt a shadow pass but couldn't run.

Anon-Angelfire

*****

Carthago delenda est!