A Vote for a Guiding Light

Dim light riding my mind.
Time falls slowly into my cup
Dripping its frenzy with every sup

I heard someone, but a sting,
An old nettle washed on winds from far away
Into the honey for my soup,
Into the spark of taste,
Into the light that does not waste

Why?
Because that old sting keeps them going.
Keeps them flowing
Not as individuals but as a state unto all over a state.
To bind Ancient root into still growing tree
And have a frozen Shakespeare moment
For their medieval beliefs.
But such beliefs were a particular zeal
That formed through a particular seal

Never obeyed but recent.
They naysayed the descent.
And undid what was nascent much older root
Much bearing fruit.

That birthed nations,
And saved stations.
And betook beginnings
In Eagle wings
And progressive things
They were always
Falling, falling
Back
To rhetoric, dogma and rule.
Never to feeling and force
And nature's course.
In Kingdoms
All one source,
Pent in worse.
One track station.
Never part of an integrated nation.
Still stinging My
Tongue.
Never begotten inserted.
Never concreted to deny
A heart and claim.
Of love
So long
Lost faith
That strangles its dove;
A church, a steeple and no love for its people.