After Hardship

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​I have learned that
​forgetfulness is futile.
​My memory, endures.
​Some place, music
​plays to the dead,
​and I see you there –
​an iceberg of the mind.
​
​Yet, I can say to life –
​everything is a
passing breeze.
​To be detached
from pain, is to be
​detached from life.
​Just a subtle
​change of airs.

Killing innocents

/ Rugby Lion / 1 Comment

Just children
traumatised by war.
No longer able to tell
the things they know.
Do you know the name?
It is murder.
They lived to play
football, or become doctors.
They died naked on the floor,
or in mass graves.
Do you know the name?
It is murder.
In hell, there is no love.
Just jagged nights,
and the vanished in our heads.
Do you know the name?
It is murder.

And the mother’s cry

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Sleet falls into the
open eyes of the dead.
A nakedness for all to see.
Now, I can only dream
about your hands,
your hair and your eyes.
A passing train window,
that returns each day.
Outside the window,
endless hours of pain.
And clouds, brushed black-
as if in a dark fire.
​

Status Symbol

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Beneath the city sky
the poison spores gather.
From branch to road,
one shadow of death
replaces the other.
With butterfly skirts,
the children hide –
no time for goodbyes.
And the status symbols?
Each day the silence of mice.

At the black river

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​A thousand sunflowers
​flitting down, even in
​the grip of prison.
​Fireflies heave their
burden of light,
a shining coil of wind
​There will be no kings
​of the black river.
​Or death by the sliding snakes.
​The day of the heroes
​is dawning.
Acclaimed throughout
the earth.
​

No one answers

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You don’t get everything
back, I think.
Not from doom or injure,
anyway.
Only the new growth grass
and a futurist poem.
Creates a new focus
in my eye.
And as for the victor?
Beware the silence.
Blood on green,
is all they have to offer.