Abominations
Abominations
The plates are shifting. Tremors cause the curs
To raise their heads and bark: no sounds emerge.
Each day is hotter – farmers heap their carts
With what they can and drag them past
The rotting bodies of their wives and sons.
Dictators we thought gone, return, no more undone
By light, than those whose fleshy hands direct
The giant machines to fall upon and shake
And topple mountains.
Governments on which
We were accustomed to depend unleash
Regimes of scarcity, the hospice door
Is barred, and patients roam the roads or crawl
Into a ditch alone, their muttered groans
Subsiding one by one, cadavers overgrown
With weeds. Those soldiers who’ve returned tell tales
In monotone of thankless killing; trails
Confined by restless shadows; plains traversed
In fear and silence; days of endless thirst.
Meanwhile our chiefs prepare new wars against
Ambitious nations. Freshly-minted states
Assemble moral hordes to re-invade
Their neighbours, whole societies implode
And bands of zealots desecrate the land
To desert sliced across by silver strands.
Each vote returns the day to dark. Each time
A man gives shelter to a friend he finds
Her dead at dawn. Each dressing we apply
Infects the wound, and balsam multiplies
The pain. Our psalms and prayers and countless acts
Of minor good stack up to no impact
At all against this almanac of stained
Abominations stalking our domain.
We’ve exhausted every path we knew to please
The gods. We can’t know where this journey leads.
But we do. It takes us from the citadel
Out through the gates, unquestionably to hell.
Each verse and chapter must be told again
From the beginning, merely to defer the end.
Shortlisted and published in the booklet of the 2017 music and poetry collaboration ‘Out of Place’ https://www.facebook.com/nicolaburnettsmith/