Beneath horse hair flax a wretched creature stirs,
off the well marched blood stained tracks
beyond the ***** ale soaked house,
The Scarer wakes with field mouse.

The dust of bones that fell in France
was scattered here to bring advance
to farmers field and heavy plough,
The Dead are churned to feed us now.

A soldiers ******* boy who no Mother ever mourns
another blasted Cannon, another Empire Dawn,
his clapper claps to scare the birds
Each clattered beat drowns out his words.

Across these patchwork Jaded Hills
an echo gently whispers still,
of all the voices never heard
Drowned out by time to scare a bird.

These shores kissed now by poison lips
that speak of only love,
her mountains green ne’er trod by feet
sent here by God above.

Vexatious tongues rebuild her walls
and drown all those opposed,
that so each silenced thought destroyed
be as a coffin closed.

While men still talk of Nations
and plot with word and deed,
they anoint their aspirations
with blood of those who bleed.

Like outposts of Empire
with synchronised obedience,
instincts are embedded
every command unseen, unheard, but done.

People flee toward and from them
in blind eyed hope,
but they are mere reflections
of remote entangled entities,

engaged and yet repellant.

Giant men shake hands
tectonic plates shift, foundations shake.
Little people reach for each other
and fractures knit together.

Like Kubrick’s femur tossed by apes
our existence evolves and spins,
In time will it fall to dust from where it came?
to lie extinct between two poles.

While Starlings sketch the sky
you my love are gone
they fall and swoop to cloud my eye
and you my love are gone

The pier is thrashed by wave on wave
no pulsing swell will bring you home
unchained from hope yet still a slave
and slave to it alone

A thousand lovers pass me by
unnoticed in the throng
not one of them would e’re know why
I’m lost where I belong

As a younger man he had taken the cloth
had sold his humanity to God
had blessed babies and crossed the dying
had given assurances of eternity
and peace to those for trying

He had been a good father
a passable husband
he had wandered to and from his flock
but mostly he had held fast
and built his house upon the rock

He sat in a pool of his own ****
and was manhandled by ungentle hands
forgetting how to pray he cursed those he had led
in communion he forgave them
as they broke his bones for bread

O father my father your father
forgive us what we do
and I will pray to unknown gods
and beg
that they remember you

https://wolfgarwords.com/2018/07/23/vicar-with-dementia-in-a-pool-of-his-own-****/