I wheeled my mind through sandy streets
envisaged the scene, the multiple beats
of heart and mind and duties bound
sacrifice, service, all that’s wound
in the wire and dust, chemical equations
the call to commit, religious persuasions
that evoke a fight beyond tangible means
the encompassing essence to which one leans
blinding emotion, of birth and death
leaves a heart, no solace, bereft
searching reason, no reason I find
only the cobbles that bump the ride
the delicate, intricate, hidden and sealed
awaiting a trigger, a figure, a yield
the corpses of war, the ghosts of peace
dance together upon tarmacadam streets
that lead and function, guide and save
the sons of material, daughters deprave
that serve a purpose unto themselves
secure a voice, mute, that tells
of nihilistic virtue, dressed in ink
a tick, tick, boom, incapacity to think
for distance silences realities unknown
sweaty thumb, depression,

1 comment:

  1. Ah, Tom, bravo - I didn't realise you were a poet [and a good one], I'm very impressed. Dark and compelling, and very evocative. I shall have to read through some more of your work.