John Jessup Kennan

Summer Without End

Blake in a pawn shop






Emotion untempered with wisdom
Becomes a tantrum from a child
Unsupervised miniature minds
Fire rockets at the running wild
Set the charge and detonator
Light the fuse to the ignition
There are children in the burn ward
Scarred beyond all recognition

Cooler heads, they say, prevail
But summer's here, it's heating up
Bloodlines are drawn, and quartered
Silver Chalice, paper cup
Raise a glass to the motherless
Lost in the Vanities of Man
Who disappear without a trace
Never to be seen again

Investigators call it arson
Say the fire started from within
Go lick the wounds of third degrees
Welcome to the Summer Without End

Now the keepers of the consciousness
Are out on their patrols
Paroled from their consciencelessness
All buttered up their jelly souls
Moses saw the promised land
But died before he made it there
Folks, you and I have seen it too
Heading into summer, whatever will I wear?

Investigators call it arson
Say the fire started from within
Go lick the wounds of third degrees
Welcome to the Summer Without End

 ¬©John Kennan 6-16-20

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