For there is all of time for this,
Yet no shadows dance with the sun
Nor certainty is found in the raging flood
The edifice of this belief becomes the fires doused
And in droves the spirit dissolves…

Annihilate and cut away like tedious branches
Grown lengthy on long afternoons struck bitter
The symbolism of an impenetrable grief
A victorious, statuesque nature to our fear

Amongst the parched lips of youths
I drink the waters that we wallow in
The water that is our time and place
Our inconsequential differences

I swallow the impurity with a gulp
Hoping for a quiet resurrection
And the abandonment of pities cruel face
Watching from the outside

Waiting for the silent contemplation to wash over me
Amidst the fear, and the loathing and the apathy
A moment will never cease, if you never cease to hold it
And yet a thousand million went by this morning

I held not a one, not daring to clutch,
The striving greed like a dank corrupted emblem
In the soil, my soul, recognises its womb
And struggles to recede – to be received

In blood, our agony becomes paint
On the canvas’s of the uninspired
Bled out in trickles onto the railway stations
And spat out as bullets of hate –

If only we were, if only for a short while
Still the reservation, how can we
If we know not that we are
Then who are you?

Disinterested

Absolved of responsibility

Riddled with guilt

…waiting for death…

How can they speak in Golgotha?
With tongues so blackened by filth
And eyelids so encrusted with faithlessness
The bitter taste of tears so fresh with lies

I’ll take a measure of hope with my day
So that it can be lived through
And at the end, with a stomach full
Retaliate against the bombardment of my thoughts

To the avail of none, nor my own
And pettily, pathetically, run down aground
With wordless non-expressions we walk the walk
Of sleepwalkers beside me, dreaming me

But I dream of them instead
Each in his turn seeing
Through the same besotted eyes
At the same unending images

Single file, emaciated
Dulce et decorum est
I refuse to hear the words
Of this terrible chant
Pro patria mori
Doomed to failure

The life of all flesh in the dirt...

For a lie, is only a lie so long as it is not believed
The truth of our form is covered in the mud of the dead
Myriads of magnified shapeless and nameless
All covering in shroud – in mourning

The drums begin, all synchronised in a rhythm
A deep thrum of existence is in there,
If you can just strain beyond the sound
And into the vision…

We exist,
And we are pitiless
Each among us will recognise
And find within us not the beauty

But the ugliness that permeates our souls

I hear laughter out of dead bellies,
And wish to hear no more of life…