reading nature's signs

I held my arm of flame

and made a tight fist 

punched high in the air

pointing out some special blame

to those who dance on fire,

tangling themselves in the shrill barbed wire

near where I reside.

and on the eve of battle,

the wandering people cried

without a shadow of doubt;

they had nothing new to write home about.

their flags and proud banners flew

and love is confused and the color blue

under the shadow of Lincoln and his famous speech:

something to remember but it seems so out of reach.

for right now a sudden knocking on the door

and my hearts skips a beat down on the lower-class floor

and the air seems pure

which might be a possible cure:

at random the tavern poets sing from the front of the stage

while the singers speak their lines

with eyes like giant stars filled with soprano rage,

waiting for a round of applause reading nature's signs;

cracking jokes with God 

which could be one of His clever designs.