EZEKIEL II: RESOLUTION

(To the magical people, the bipolar and schizophrenic)

Born aloft by four winged steeds,
The throne dias hovers in midair

Four leagues from our current position.

I see through the cybernetic binoculars 

The golden  throne itself glinting 

And reflecting the light

From a brilliant, heavenly wheel of fire

That now descends from an overcast sky

Pregnant with impending rain. 

The pain in your arm and the chill

At the small of your back - let said

Infirmities keep you here and abide!

(There are only three of us left,

And the third of our party is only

In certain ways really here...)

I will ride out to grasp our destiny,

Guts over fear, to achieve

That divine seat yonder. To squander 

Is not a worry that should beset us ever again. 

Money is no object, by the way;

What matters is our happiness, friends!