Wednesday, 7 November 2012

Vice D'or

Gone, the irritating whinging whining,
The siren wail that might have been a voice,
No more, the manic screech of shifting misery,
At which turning, triumph will rejoice.
Never more the taunt of exultation,
Shrill and shallow victory-cry of hate,
Gone forever, deadly dart of darkness.
Touching amber embers in Hell’s grate.
Left behind, the mutant accusation,
Self propelled to maximize the maim,
Abandoned, the philosophy of cruelty
Robbed of target, inward turning blame.
History, a child of legislation,
Blind, for men the future is a veil,
A memory, the fetid fruit of lying,
Dark cloud of oppression turning pale.
Tiny foetal whisper of a prospect
Striving to survive at fading verge,
A sliver slit of dark enveloped radiance
Struggling must from shadows yet emerge.
Hope, that well of never-ending succour
Propping life on legs of tremulous you,
Forward inch by inch to newer dawning,
Budding green will overcome the blue.

Dedicated to a happy marraige and a happy divorce!


  1. Woundedness wrapped around tender solicitude, like the thorns on the stem of the rose.

    1. "Woundedness", what a truly wonderful word!Thank you for the comment.

  2. Replies
    1. Thanks Maddie, your encouragement is a constant fillip to us.P+P