WINTER SONG
This distant raven
Smudges the fields,
A rise and spin and fall
Into waves of rain.
Storm winds sweep away
The last of daylight.
Broken sun skitters the hillsides.
It is a rage, a downing tumble.
The world aches
For good governance.
We, an evil race
If we can sing neither
Praise nor beauty.
The heather has broken,
Black is the wild rock.
Unkept are the fields,
Unkempt the hedges.
The cold phlegm lies deep,
A ghost not to be forgotten.
The neat roads are a lie:
They go nowhere
But another stone womb
Devoid and hollowed of life.
Arrogance barking
Through the night,
A papered-over civility
That masks
The purple bruises
Of pampered bullies.
The lambs of peace
Will bring down wrath,
The ravens know.
There is only hunger,
Food and eater.
Marrow,
The heart of things.
We gnaw the shattered bones
To find the fire.
Peck the eyes
To see tomorrow.
—
simonhlilly 