BITTER TRUTH
Set a kindling of words,
A small shattered pile
To see what warmth, what light
(on this dark, fog-grey morning)
May catch and roar out loud.
To burn up and blaze tedious dream;
To set a new road (on an old path);
To feed the slumberers in the blood,
The wraiths in the mind’s halls,
The hollowness in the heart.
A small chirped dawn chorus
In the flat, windless, icy air.
Slow fire under a cold cauldron,
Where the names mean nothing now,
And the maps, blood-sodden, dissolve.
Deceit has left us starving.
Calculated dissembling in the cities.
This is the last war –
The war for honest words.
—
simonhlilly 
Brilliant!