Lost lives
From sodden ferns unfurling
the rain unceasing fell
a backdrop and a metaphor
while church bells tolled and bullets rang
and blood was in the gutters.
The music ominously rose
then fell in dying fugue
as bombs and buildings blew apart
a symphony in smashing glass
while women screamed and lives were lost
and all the world was grieving.
Murmuration silhouetted, black upon the blue
one mournful trumpet blown
for thirty years, tears poured on tears
daily the death toll rising
lost lives in thousands, piteous
a tragedy to contemplate
impossible to bear.
10th March 2020 Hounoux
From sodden ferns unfurling
the rain unceasing fell
a backdrop and a metaphor
while church bells tolled and bullets rang
and blood was in the gutters.
The music ominously rose
then fell in dying fugue
as bombs and buildings blew apart
a symphony in smashing glass
while women screamed and lives were lost
and all the world was grieving.
Murmuration silhouetted, black upon the blue
one mournful trumpet blown
for thirty years, tears poured on tears
daily the death toll rising
lost lives in thousands, piteous
a tragedy to contemplate
impossible to bear.
10th March 2020 Hounoux
Very powerful Sally, transgresses through time and place. Wondering what triggered this? it seems to capture something specific?
ReplyDeleteYes Jude - I almost mentioned that at the bottom of the poem. I was watching a film called Lost Lives taken from the book of the same name, in which are listed all the names of everyone who lost their life in the thirty years of the Irish Troubles. It is unbelievably poignant.
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