[lit-ideas] Thursday Poem

  • From: "Lawrence Helm" <lawrencehelm@xxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
  • Date: Thu, 7 Sep 2006 12:41:14 -0700

 

            Warriors, Priests

 

            The clash of our words

            Rose until in the general 

            Melee even the sorrowful

            And sick keened their grievance

            Above the snarls and sneers:

            Their hope of spoil

            Their fear of detestation.

 

            I stepped back with

            Weary arm, my words

            Ran down my sleeve

            Onto the ground

            Where they sounded

            A guttural protest

            At the wind.

 

            Others too withdrew

            Like tormented

            Conies scurrying off

            To seek a hiding place

            Beneath the piles of trash.

            We stood with

            Heaving chests.  Our eyes

 

            Looked about with deep

            Suspicion.  Those most

            Given to the pacific cause

            Were as like as not

            To rage against

            Our mild and ironic

            Warwords.  We stood aside

 

            And pulled our cloaks

            About our bulging shoulders

            And arms, content that

            Should our words fail

            In resolution our swords

            Were sharp enough to etch

            Our sayings on city walls.

            

 

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