The bloody red earth claws the soldiers weary legs……
to it’s foul body, it’s dregs.
The green too, now is spattered vermilion.
Animals gone mad eat an arm
, it’s severed so there’s no harm.
The tame has gone wild –
even man and child.
Paraclete or Parabolanus why are you not
playing your part in this pantomime ?
The audience is waiting……………
The Osprey are numerous, vultures too many, not to mind.
The audience no longer is waiting………
The actors cannot go home now,
the stage is their scene, their part, their Life now.
The theatre the field,the props the ruins, the backdrop the blasted sky.
The set now the people’s prison – a prism their living truth made a lie.
No one sees – for no one hears there is no one in the hall …..
no one at all.
Voices re- bound and echo chromatographic
all souls caught in scenes- imprisoned now graphic.
Soldier’s torn festoon, as stained as the shirt, blood soaked, hardens.
The mother’s blasted bosom reeks – as the offal of her son darkens.
Oh God !
May the callous man be made aware – even as You live in the heart of men,