Poetry

God cannot intervene in sovereignty
and the boy will plead no innocence.
Seedlings  cannot control the wind,
in birth the Oak has called their name
 a command from the forest  unseen.
 
A  biblical sandstorm unleashed by unworthy souls
Will  scatter this seed
that a millennium of kings could not see.
Time demands the old to look away
For Medusa’s face will give the peace.
Hope now resides in young men’s eyes
and the currency at stake is dreams.
These are the orders of man.
 
As  the desert celebrates the rain with life
and the Eskimo gives reverence to  flesh.
That is the natural dignity  of things
It was this harmony  that created  the ark,
a speck of light in the darkness
that gives meaning to the stars above.
 
But war is the Cancer unseen
flowing in the veins of weeds with mortal power.
Weeds whose future is locked in vaults unseen
hypnotised by the allure of possession
hiding their gluttony  in papers power.
A confession that only the executor will see.
 
The poor will be tried in combat,
existence will  see them fall.
To defend history with  mothers child,
and use our great Cities to forge
the end with  steel and bullet.
All bought with Slaver’s wealth and empire.
 

Actions that will tempt the heavens
 with  sparks that ricochet off the anvil of God.
So even the  lost alien observer
will  feel this pain of mankind.
These  seedlings cropped by  lawnmowers damned
Scything through the spirit of man.
 
And perhaps the crying mother will find comfort
that  the greed  that underpins all wars,
will see this Judas priest .
This paper with devils desire
 that feeds a global asylum,
in cubicles of generic concrete
waiting for the illusive pension from life.
 
Will find the ark that prophets seek.
A truth that transcends all religion.
Heaven declines your currency
wealth is a mortal thing
your fee is to the earth
and that  is the remembrance of you.
 
The cry of the swift
gives Gods  speed to  assassins flight.
A mirage of summer
that avoids the artists brush.
Natures fly has devoured this sin of man
and sacrifice is given,
to the voyagers of the sky
converting the souls of men to flight.
And perhaps in this act ,
humanity will find redemption.
 
And the boys that died unseen
will finally see the beauty of  creation,
high above the pain below.
Screaming on the wings of freedom
A truth reserved for God
 and a dead boy’s dream.