The Same Old Morphine Drum.

Blood and blind faith

Were never going to be enough

On the long, harsh, decision-deferment slog;

We must have known it all along,

Carrying this indigestible truth

Silently inside every one of our

Bones, lights and souls as we

Hoped and cast charms to close out the world

With hushed fires and rough, loud whiskies.

But,  oh my, too, too soon

It’s tap – tap …

And, even at this remove,

We shake and shiver

While toad-skinned smoke

Writes its glib falsehoods.

Desperation is playing

The same old, shame-old

Morphine drum that beats no retreat

Then repeat, repeat, repeats and echoes

Around history’s full compass.

Behind dirty lilac curtains

Of spinning, cowardly clouds,

Even the sun weeps.

Truth will be brought to the table,

Perhaps,  another, future-distant dawn.

 

24/8/2013