Night or day, dusk or dawn –
Some meddling force contrived to spawn
An urge so sore, black and blue
Your footprints turn and run from you.
The whispering thighs of Possession’s strut
Promise exalted feelings, but
While you surround the salvation due
A tattoo of rage flares up behind you.
Piously the damned sing
Alarmbells ring upon their pyre –
It’s “Fire!
Who’ll save our souls?”
Hubris cries: no remorse!,
Pets feral “winners” on all fours.
They’re undeterred, try in vain
To keep the sunshine, throw back the rain.
Goddesses fly low, Verity lies,
Modesty suffers, Sanity cries.
Charity’s sick, her kindness ingrown.
Her candles have cooled, her blessings have blown.
While lush flames can warm you,
If there’s a true, red-handed liar
It’s Fire.
The storm is gathered, fuelled and live;
Street lanterns blink at the dark,
Chains rattle and dogs bark,
One, two, three, four …
Stick meets hide, the chants strain.
They’re set to pain and lust and ire
And fire.
Hurt or healed, lost or found,
There’s room for worlds on common ground.
Helmut Hauke 