Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Afternoon in Maricot

D'accord echoes in the hallowed mall
Now threadbare marble, the throat-breaking talk
Flows like a bottle of wine,
As if monks have broken a vow of silence
And the harsh judgments of delicious truth
Spin away like yarn.

O the lengths we go to evade compassion,
We walk all day long for what doesn't need us
But everywhere eyes require our large sense of wrong,
Redemption to the March of the Valrykies
To recover what was never theirs,
What would pain them so to lose,
As if they once had gained it
From your sharp, inquiring eyes ... 

That now withhold whatever empathy
Was once the one not wrong they had,
For it became part of a larger wrong,
Implicated in the crime it witnessed.
It joined its heart to what could only grow until it burst,
And then withdrew, the final act, where everyone
Is powerless, and always has been.

Emptier the chasm for having known there were people
Who once lived upon those hills,
Now gone inexplicably, forever.

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