Diving into the Wreck - After Yeats, Elliot & Rich
Voting, not voting or vote-less, shore to shore, We cannot see to row for the future Has no oars; no centre left to uphold A bridge of placards, to rebuild the world, Where blood-thin skies march long and ravens call On changing tides, where borders make waves a wall. The rights of man and woman, fall to flood With passions pealing, church bells underground.
April is not the cruellest month, ‘tis May, With revolution bleeding surely from A traitor’s hand – hardly are the words declared Than echoes of Spiritus Mundi are numbered, Spooling in shadows beneath a forgotten star. Unreal cities resist, wastelands of belief - but Stupidity and madness both present As ignorance, with fear their father and child, Squinting, blank, at the midday glare. Forgive me, My passport lies in the discarded dark With twenty centuries of stony sleep. The second death came for us last year, rocking In the cradle of our privileged despair; Namaste… Awen… Shantih… Inshallah.