Nature Being Symbolic Of Death

in this morning’s world, offers no escape.
Written on the day Ukraine was invaded –
pic: my own

 

 

Dawn’s clinging mist
smells of cordite this morning
thick as pease pudding…damp as an
army-issue blanket!

As bullrush reeds
scratch grave markings on retina
frost-bitten catkins, budding too early
hang drowned and dripping like
rain soaked wreaths

Those rooks too
in pairs, zigzagging over the lake
are they searching for corpses in
half-submerged trenches?

Witches will haunt walkers
intent on escape, torment brains
trying to find rest; today there is no
calming respite!

Today, only emptiness
creeps round land in near focus
cramping old bones inflamed by ache
Beauty has been murdered
again this night!

Now a pocket torch sun
like hope, ever rising, sometimes fading
is simulating the break-through rescuer
despairingly awaited…

 

 

Goth:2022

 

© Gothicman 2023
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critique and comments welcome.
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ionicus

Well said, Trevor. A metaphor more symbolic to our self-induced destruction of our planet than the invasion of Ukraine, methinks, but equally forceful in the condemnation of any aggressive interventions.
Best, Luigi.

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