Where will our ark disembark?
Will there be better lands stretched forth
where we can hold all our siblings?
I want to have that hands-on haven,
heaven-sent sentimentality to the very earth
where our community shall be seeded.
Cross boundaries and build no borders,
no walls, no barriers needing breaking
as we want this to be all: for, by, open to.
Our ark shall be made by the might
that terror that those who will refuse to board
will be so off-put by. Build it strong.
When waters rise, their flood finally realized,
the wrath of God given not against us sinners,
us lovers of life as we were born into.
No, this wrath was meant for them. And, behold,
we know what comes, we know the waters will rise
and in our ark shall create salvation.
Hello, Rapture. Hello, Ragnarok. Your children
believed you to be minor moments made
to kill those capable of building new communities.
If you wish, we’ll open our doors to them,
we’ll be their own salvation: Gomorrah giving
goodness from our open hearts.
But, if they come, corruption from us
to their void hearts, fill their generations
with love, allness, openness, and they die
wondering why their children do not honor
them. Why doesn’t the child honor the white,
straight, cis father? Is he not the Patriarch?
Our ark disembarks at the found, at the made,
wanders over, and suddenly New World Order
is peace and love finally.