Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

And so rises this, our time of the high dividing
wall, our long dread while of the cinderblock
and razorwire castes: so tide the sermons
of the rabble: so the red-rattle deaths pull
crumpled, peel rotting, from the jags

of the rubble: so fall the siren-sung, warblown
martyrs, come the heat, come the rumble,
of the bread market blast: come night, come fire,
come the wailing of the veils, come black tithes
of ash cooling white on the pulpit of the sills:

come Sabbath, come mourning, come the call
for an eye for an eye, for a rip-trail tearing
in the fabric of the mosque: come the pounding
of the temples, come the engines of rhetoric
screaming blood before the afterburn, in

the arc-white flash of lightning jets: yes, come
these, come all, and each: a message: and each:
a word, and a symbol: O, save this, save this:
what purpose, what purpose does the dead child
serve? What serves the purpose of the dead child?

Well done.

What serves the purpose of any child in the escalation of noise? Born with blood debt.

beautiful powerful language and message....grips the senses tightly and won't let go

A powerful read indeed ,aloud it has very impressive energy , awaking the question, not to be denied.

Powerful read indeed! Almost too much to grasp at one go, so will read again later. ♥♥♥