I've been reading real poets' words over recent weeks, and frankly have been too busy, and perhaps to "emptied out" to put my own thoughts into words. But off the back of the attached Mark Rothko painting ("Black on Dark Sienna on Purple" by Mark Rothko 1960 in the Museum of contemporary Art) that I posted as part of my #LentArt social media exercise, and local events recently these words bubbled up almost unsummoned.
A beautiful sunshine filled day,
But darkness reigns.
Blossoms bursting with life,
But hope is dead.
Sabbath in an unholy week of chaos
Without real rest.
The mob has made their choices clear.
The politician washes his hands,
Incapable of comprehending
The very concept of truth.
And the religious leaders,
The men of God,
Have sacrificed
Another young man
To the twin gods
Of violence and self-interest.
It’s a small group of women
Who remained to the end.
But that was yesterday;
Today, nothing.
We stay at home as commanded;
Nothing to do.
And tomorrow never comes;
No light on the horizon.
Selah
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