The sound of the gun
will never cease.

The smell is acrid
in the air.

The blood sits as
witness on the ground,

The bullets dented
by someone’s love.

And still it goes on.

Paralysis.

Fear.

Sealed up with patriotic zeal.

Again and again
the sound is heard.

March on, march on
to the sound of
the cracks in the wind.

 

28/1/2023