The Watchers

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As darkness falls
the sky is shot with red
and here is where the wood
thins out, opens into a field of souls,
and all that’s good and gentle
bleeds off through the night.

There is no hope in this
and they come to burn the dead
hidden by a sweep of cloud
and a fading moon. We watch
to witness whatever truth there is,
and wait for morning to weep
across the trees, raw as ripped out roots.

 

 

©2013 Louise Hastings

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Listening

The Perseid meteor shower is sparked every August when the Earth passes through a stream of space debris left by comet Swift-Tuttle. (Photo: Darren Wood/Twitter)

The Perseid meteor shower is sparked every August when the Earth passes through a stream of space debris left by comet Swift-Tuttle. (Photo: Darren Wood/Twitter)

i.
Summer is passing
and I wonder
where all the voices go,
the ones that never end
rising in a cacophony
of noise, spit and dust.
Would they stop
if they could hear her wild lament
before the darkness closes in?

ii.
They line up along the street
to protest their unfair fate
while in the road the vans
announce their message: “GO HOME”
and all I see is mess and black austerity,
blood and hate, but what do I know?
Only that I wished upon a falling star tonight.

iii.
And they will predict their rainfall,
declare their wars, but we can
turn their lies into truth,
and when the world turns violent
I can think of brightness, the beyond
and always my love for you.

 

 

©2013 Louise Hastings