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MV Blake Mar 2015
The children, dark and light,

Skipped through the sands,

Laughter amongst the stars,

Running gently hand in hand.


The first built a castle,

Using sand for the walls.

He declared himself king

Of his star-peppered hall.

The other thought hard

And then with a cry

Kicked over the castle,

And roared to the sky.

Now I am the king,

The other declared;

Now fall on your knees

And try to look scared.

The first stood straight up

And waved with his fist,

The castle is mine,

He spat, growled and hissed.

The other looked down

And saw his mistake,

And for a moment was sad

At what was to break.


A war broke forth,

A fight in the sands.

The children still fight,

No more hand in hand.
MV Blake Mar 2015
Legs like lead,

We trudge through Monday’s trenches,

Carrying a pack

I’m sure weighs too much.

We shoulder the weight

And push forward onto Tuesday,

Gritting our teeth,

Feet sore to the touch.

On Wednesday,

The time falls like shells,

Carrying payloads

That detonate hour by hour,

Until Thursday,

When the guns are spent,

Cooling their muzzles

As they nurse their power.

Friday comes round,

And finds us alive in the trench,

And we’re ordered home

To replenish in peace.

Of this war we keep fighting

We prepare in retreat;

The glorious charge

For the generals gold fleece.
MV Blake Mar 2015
We touch the bark, blessed in ignorant knowledge

That what we feel is the extent of reality.

The learned man nods, trapped in his own hubris

As he opines from on top of the tree in the valley,

Declaring there is nothing beyond the forest;

All he can see are trees as far as the eye can see.


We scuttle across the ground, looking up in awe

As the wise man is joined by another.

They nod to each other, trapped in their hubris

As one, each man sharing his small secrets.

They climb higher up the tree, quick to point out

That of the forest there is no end to guess.


Satisfied at last, they climb down to our questions,

And patiently answer, without hesitation:

There is only the woods of the forest you see,

We've seen it all, we demand you believe.

Don't look at the edge, there's nothing for you,

Just tree upon tree, we've seen it, it's true.


Downcast,

We scuttle away,

Our tails tucked between our legs.

We think some more and go back to them

Who, being learned, are known as wise men.

It mustn't be true, we're sure you're mistaken,

It can't be just trees...


We plead for some sign, and without hesitation,

They growl and declare with words we're forsaken.

We're driven away to a home far from home

And left to die in the woods all alone.


We pick up children and wander away,

Cursed to walk through the forest and cry.

We wander for years, heading due North

And the forest, it slowly changed as we walked.

The trees, once so dense, revealed fields of grass,

And rivers, hills, mountains and sky.


Oh the sky, what wondrous vision is this?

So wide and filled with lights, what bliss!

We've only seen the branches of trees above.

We must tell the others, I'm sure they don't know.

We choose to return on the path we can't miss.

We turn back our steps, heedless to peril.


They greet us with spears and declare us begone.

We try to tell them, but they will not listen,

They scream forsaken and call us the devil.

We demand they look up to the sky up above,

But the wise men, trapped in their hubris,

Fling words like arrows, too many to count,

And we sadly retreat to hope the others get out.


The wise man watch us turn back our steps

And declare in a rush that those who repent

Can come back to the woods

Where's there's nothing but trees

And the lies that we've said?

Well, they were never meant.


Some others turn back and scuttle away,

We watch sadly as their backs turn south.

Unsure, I look up, and the branches cover me,

Green upon green, tree after tree.

But just there, flashing between leaves

Shines the sky and the stars and

I'd rather be free.
MV Blake Mar 2015
You sit gathered in

Robes wielding knives

From your sleeves;

How determined are you?

Did you agree this death

Behind closed doors?

Assassins in closets,

Knives in their craws,

A ****** of crows pecking

A dying wolf's paws.

How calm you lie

While you hide the knife

You used to slay me;

How calm and sure.

Did you hesitate

To put me in the ground?

Was it hard to push it in

Without a sound?
MV Blake Mar 2015
New words in old styles

Tracked on a canvas of brick

By a precocious kid

Sneaking on the lines;

The little *****.

My morning art show

Laid out in illiterate words,

Scribbled by artists

Who failed art at school,

Then shat on by birds.

An exhibition of names

Written worryingly wrong,

Evident to the system

That failed before they

Even joined the throng.

We pause at one piece

Daubed in indelible paint,

White streaked on black,

A chaotic sprawl of letters,

"**** al saintz".

I've been there before;

A nice school I thought,

Catholic of course;

I doubt the child gave

The saints a spare thought.

And what about Al?

Does he care at all?

Does he pause here,

On his way to work,

And dream their downfall.

It drives me up the wall

To see tracks filled with art,

But are they to blame?

We let them loose

And they play their part.
MV Blake Mar 2015
I would pull your halo down

And fling it like a discus

Into the olympian clouds

For it to spin unending;

A fiery sun,

A sight to see

For the credulous crowds.


I would pull out your nails

One by one and stack them

On the blood slick cross

And watch you fall;

A dead weight,

So loaded with

Dogmatic dross.


I would see you fail

As we retreat from you

Into evidence

And truth from fact;

Intellect

Separating

Hope from sense.


I would see you gone

Like all you are or ever were

Is naught but

A memory;

A ragged

Child's blanket

We'd rather not see.


I would see you

Gone from me.
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