Détente To A Madman

has indiscriminately affected us all
The frustration of not being able to help Ukraine more


For decent folk,
round fear’s chilling signals
weaves loops of indefinable horror,
conscience chokes on a rivulet of hope,
helplessness, the stone in the stomach.

Accusatory shouting, that never ends,
sharp needle of staring eyes; conscience,
muddled, rummages through moral stance
for one redeeming example.

The child’s undamaged roadside castle
mocks the surface of the senses, for
conscience too, wrote its charter in sand,
the deepest reason for a feeble peace.

As fifth columnists pluck white geese,
blind now to Trojan statue-pullers daubing
anachronic causes on cenotaphs, sane
conscience, wisely withstands capitulation.

Irrational pleas for retaliation
augment the madness, fuel a worthier call.
Conscience, allergic to biblical retribution,
drowns in a deluge of resonating pathos.

To counteract Slavism’s collective chaos,
distraction’s prescribed; conscience now,
in a silent trance, named on shame’s
unfairest shrine, dedicated to the
impotent protester.


© Gothicman 2023
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