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Syria

tell me what words are there

to articulate this savage parade

not here, not in all the Lebanons

whose crystal castles sparkle

like broken glass

on the dark horizons

at the jagged edges of the world

from which cultured minds have receded

and all humanity has been relinquished

to the barbarity of the frenzied flavours of fools

who will speak for this wild parade

without impediment to mythical protagonists

tell me where are the energised arguments

against sophisticated yet false laments

where testament is torn through

weeping cedar trees

producing the unpredictable accidental quality

that memorialises phantom caresses

that have neither been invented nor encouraged

the hallow that inaugurates

the distinctive features of

destructive energies that are both

exuberant and hard to comprehend

this parade where there is

a savage sensibility

capable of apprehending

contradictory ethical imperatives

that vouch for a mocking stream of

tragic political consequence

displayed vividly in the inextricability

of civil order and political violence

that defies exclusive claim

by casting itself as freedom warrior

in disguise as militaristic humanism

and burns the temple tree

and where human identity

becomes an elusive possession

owned by a few

who in the inevitability of ignorance

refuse to recognise their tragic error

and the world does not mount

a strenuous protest

at this headlong dash for Ephesus

where antagonistic language and

neutral expression of thought converge

and here the value of valulessness

repudiates, even in a single poetic moment

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Written by
edgar-whitman-wilde
Irish
Published
Aug 25, 2013
Lines·Words
47·239
Permission

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