news of nations

before you reach the shore the cargo sinks
and with it all your hopes and every thought
of changing what you feared or had been taught
into a wilder form instead the links
reform and you must still endure the stinks
of memory and wrath and all the fraught
terrors in which our lives have long been caught
and groan as gaolers calmly close the chinks
those were you ponder brighter younger days
when happy sails could cross well-charted seas
and not be threatened by the coming storm
this is the time when we can't pierce the haze
and only horror comes upon the breeze
while even darkness seems to be too warm