The Choice

I'm not much of a poet,

not much of a wrighter,

but today, perhaps, i'm afirer. 

The world around me changes day by day.

While I love what was and love what is

I look to what will be, and see,

dark air above the howling sea. 

The trees, how they burn.

The child, how he cries

as he weeps for his mama with dry eyes.

But all is not lost on this barren Earth. 

Their is a light that shines  night by night,

millions upon billions upon trillions of them in the sky,

to them must we fly.

I'm not much of a poet,

not much of a wrighter, 

but the change I see 

is the choice before thee.