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Lord

March 25, 2017

WAR & CONFLICT BOOK ERA:  WORLD WAR II/PERSONALITIES

Seditionist.
Or terrorist.
This is flour.
And also grist.
Angel hair.
Or human shit.
We no longer make distinction.

Yet we serve these words.
As truth.
And swerve.
The roots.
That touch.
Our nerves.
Whilst telephones tell.
The resting birds.
Of the coming mass extinction.

The boot is raised.
The human face.
Ignorant.
Of class or race.
The soul.
Suborned.
Has no place.
In the courts of contribution.

Petals fall.
On tower roofs.
Metal beams.
And crumbling walls.
Flowers grow.
In silver light.
Now a sight that goes unseen.
Not a light that we’d recall.
Amongst the night’s pollution.

A ring of fire.
A raft of stone.
No place left.
To call a home.
No thing left.
To be left alone.
Adrift.
On a Titan’s collarbone.
This is how the ledger ends.
In violent absolution.

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From → Poetry

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