Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney
rozk

THE POET TO HER YOUNG COMRADES 13

It may well be that they will kill us all.
A thousand bullets in a thousand brains
would solve most of their problems. What remains
of any opposition will soon fall

to broken hearts and age. Yet, tense, at night
they'll brood on murders missed. Fear that we'll rise
somehow from death. Their lies will glamorise
us to their shiny children. What we write

somehow survives, however much they burn.
Regrows like bindweed, underneath the ground
Your essays and my sonnets will be found
on barrows, shelves and websites. No return

for you or me, my dears. We're dead and gone.
Their children praise us. Freedom's just begun.
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 0 comments