The End of a New Season

British Library image

The soft hand of a baby’s breath
clutches snow for the very last time
for the fires are illuminating the sky
our white-haired fathers are sending missiles
to obliterate philosophies and the hungry
and our children’s children ask why
why are all the forests gone
why are all the rivers running dry
why is there a big hole punctured in the sky?

And the snow in the soft hand of a baby’s breath
melts away with the regrets so wet
and the baby cries as he says goodbye

Human hearts are flecked with the need to destroy
yet the need to feel something down deeper more
than black scratches on walls of brick splashed neon
there are severed heads among the rubble
everyone lives in a bubble
encased in an impenetrable casing of greed
and even when we penetrate the bodies of others
are we merely manipulating our own seed?

The baby’s breath lays there blue and wheezing
in a north London street
his heart has nearly stopped beating
for the madmen have pulled the trigger
whatever the trigger of the day may be
and there is no justice
when rapists of foreign lands
are pardoned by their own cogs
the evil empire is set to implode
on the dawn of revolutionary resolution

So we must hang on tightly
to the ones we live for and trust
for that new Italian Ferrari in the garage
will melt in the turbulent hell of it all
and would you rather die in the cradle of plush interior
or in the arms of your everlasting love?


Your thoughts?