silk hamlet
The flame inside has burned hotter than
the thousand suns that brought a crumbling mass
of steel and concrete to its aching creaking knees.
With eyes cast down in desperation for a revolution of liberty.
The thirst in pitch black dark enriched by tunnelling
like rats under former homes turned rubble and dust.
The lungs are heaving heart in rage that was building
up. The radio and satellite silence paved
the way for golden road of so-called freedom
friends branding you an animal.
Where do you turn in the Molotov soul of yours.
Men wrapped up secrets in familial spaces.
They spit on your face and mock, but what
would others not do than turn party cakes
into bombs.
Scapulars against the wall
of rectangular angle
Cornered…
you kick and bite.
The fury lights up as you think of shot up knees and
legs who tried a peaceful march on
those eagle streets, but the airways are quiet
and the cold cuts deep as the walls
and rust covers the bolds.
Waves crash in a rhythmic way. There is no way out
of these squished up water ways and
the pain of hell burns through this middle way,
but what do they expect all horrified.
The sadist cried wolf and the little killer lied.
The voice shrieks in ever rising pitch blowing
all over the cascade of decay.
A promised hero on the fade with dive through
grace with vicious blade
that cuts through bone and timber too.
Hear the rue of ending day.
The enemy of supposed divinity
that washed the brains through the dispensation of sanity.
The sadist cried wolf time and time again.
With scraps stuck out and technical resolve.
It is the will of ultimate mirror after all
to struggle for breath and life in call
that chimes through dust and cursed land.
With snarl to beg for mercy from hostile hand.