by Michael Brett

And so from everything I escaped:
The years like footsteps filling with flowers
And London streets no longer like rivers brimming
With news and rumours of corpses, gunfire
Scratching like fingernails on the undersides of clouds;

Being followed by cars, arms deals in airport toilets
And a sense of everyday being a tripping down
A spiral staircase deeper into the earth,
Where the greenish dead shake their heads at a Janus world;

I have learned that blood is in the power of continents
Locking and wrestling like tectonic plates
In the time span of glaciers; ruled by an indifferent God
With clumsy, non-watchmaker hands
Who cares only for outlines, not for details:
For the nations, for the millions, not for babies crying,
Not for the single rifle bullets
Probing old dreams like rain; a God as indifferent as tides,
As remote as moonlight on a burning house.

I hold you tightly as only friendship is left.

Copyright © 2013 - Michael Brett
Published: 2/28/13   ·  Author's Page   ·  Next Poem