Too many pained expressions; too many crying faces; too many pleading mothers.
Why does humanity love this agony; almost revel in it?
And they talk of how they will prevail. Churning out the vision of 'freedom' - for whom? The word is meaningless. The dictionary has been rewritten by the neo-cons and the fundamentalists; our language is debased.
They come and they stay. They appropriate and they consume. They are immoveable and believe always that they are right.
Exxon or maybe BP or maybe one of the others, named an oil tanker after Condaleeza Rice. It's true - look it up. Lloyds of London will have her listed. And as it sails out into the arms of 'peace' the hooded mothers will still be waiting in the dark beneath what little shelter they can muster. Staring at the dark wall; praying that they will survive another night.
In the 1980's Ronald Reagan (Raygun to some) traded weapons with Hizbollah in return for hostages and then denied it to the American people. Actually denied it on camera to the American people - he said, to quote, 'my heart tells me we didn't do it, but the facts tell me otherwise' as if it had happened by proxy or else in some dream-vision pre-cursor of his later brain disease, a personal tragedy sure - but after how many others?
Can't we find somewhere in the world - maybe an abyssal plain beneath the sea somewhere - where we can dump all these fundamentalist cowards from both sides of the 'war on terror' - which is turning out to be a war on civilians - and leave them there? Just to please us all however, let Bush go first, closely followed by Cheney, Rumsfeld, James Baker III, and Paul Wolfowitz. Blair will follow anyway and willingly; we won't even need to give him a push. After that send down the now redundant and mythological bin Laden to sing goodnight lullabies to them all. And leave them there while the rest of us try to reconstruct some respect in the human race.
Start by listening to what those mothers want and need most.
A vision of charging hordes across the fells - Beowulf resurrected? - some Dark Age clash of warriors; noise, the sound of wheeling hawks - the time coming with howls, pre-battle, lusty, berserked - then their blades clash and the hills are filled with the skirmishing, echoing across the lake -
1 comment:
Take it that last paragraph refers to the vision of your former self as spied on York Station...
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