Victims of Success
Nothing as precious in the star-spangled universe
Is to be found, than the multitudes
That can crystallise speech from air
With such guile that it leaves them unaware.
The trees and waves know no gods
But the snow bears the footprints
Of us that so consciously tread
Our past savagery so ceremoniously shed.
A constellation of humanity in a city square
Echoes more worth than a billion burning stars
And yet there are those who callously wish death
For us earning the might of godly breath.
How could the mirror of the species
Reflect such unguided hate
Towards the eyes that invented love
And composed names for the heavens above?
Away From Conscription
If the unjust death of a man cast a pall
On the visage of slow-growing beauty
Then should we throw a black-knit shawl
Upon the ascendant crawl of wounded history?
We grieve for death so viciously wrought
And cry vainly for utopia learned of soul;
But if failure should appear so hard-fought
Should we severe the ties of civilised control?
Whilst self-conscripted soldiers wage their shimmering war
Battling for a victory they pray may never come,
I shall watch on from history’s verse-jewelled shore
And sing hard-learned songs I hope can never be undone.
Muses so much missed, whom do you miss the most?
Is it the poet by the sea that knew not of decay,
The composer listening to the tides on a laughing coast
Or is the painter interested only in the hues of the shanty bay?
Sometimes I wonder if it is you I hear
When I gaze on a marble tear on a nymph’s cheek
Or listen to a heavenly violin soaring so near.
But I fear utopia has rendered your voice all-too-meek.
Did you ever imagine man coming so close to perfection
Only to despise himself for not being perfect enough?
I remember when bleeding man in his agonised inaction
Summoned you out of desperation and love;
Is there anywhere left to engrave
Your name on an unseen grave?