These torn threads around me are tensing to start
A war one day, consider it marked:
They need to kickstart their meaning, after
Investing so heavily in national values
Only for them to crash.
Sullenly staring after its end;
Wars seem crunchy until your friends
Are black paste smeared on the walls of some ruin;
At least I’ll have known it was endlessly stupid.
Inferno sold as a chance.
Don’t hedge against it – keening to judge
Some sullen smartass they’ll action their grudge,
Feeling keenly the blade of blame for pain
And its quiet injunction to punish the vain
Guilty in their foresight.
A joke it may seem, but soon become tumour
Beyond the one-use shapes of humour
To summon the sodden clouds and gloom
Sullying otherwise living rooms
And making grey the light.
Or… maybe they’ll simply go their way
Their manic way, just day to day
Trembling before the future’s violence
Flashing their eyes at anyone strident
Enough to defy them, face to face
– “You think you can leave the race?
“I’ve got a long knife that says you can’t.”