WAR CRY
A furnace dawn.
It will come on
To rain tears later.
Why are we always
Led by fools?
.
It is not gold, but spelter.
Not ore, but slag.
The forge of beauty is cold.
The taste of the morning air
Is bitter.
.
Two swans, white and dancing,
Fly low following the river westwards.
A sorrowful sky full of rain
Will cause more leaves to fall.
.
All our roads are cracked and failing.
They have borne too much,
Never thanked nor mended.
We watch weeds grow tall in crevices.
.
Within the hills
The druids and saints
Are turned to stone.
The names of things carved and fading
Where sheep are grazing.
.
There will be peace at last
When we are all gone.
First frosts will kill
The last rose.
.
The gods of creation
Sought perfection
And so always failed.
They have taught us sorrow,
The fleeting smile of time
And space.
–
simonhlilly 