the dark disaster broken by harsh light

patter of voices sound of running feet

these lives that ended they were not so sweet

that does not matter for we had no right

to trample these brief hopes in the hot night

ignoring the short cry of mi nu dweet

the blotless orders always seem so neat

not so the blood and ordure in our sight

the noble man no brute can't bear the blame

see how the sorrow weighs upon his face

adding it seems another dozen years

we will not think of yet another name

the one whose presence we can't seem to trace

who sums up all our terrors and our fears

what tears were shed we never have to ask

nor need to see the terrors or the pains

the horror of the years the heavy chains

we know the reasons and we had the task

to break them off nor do we want to bask

in one moment's approval these old stains

have yet to fade and so much yet remains

of all the sorrow that you had to mask

now use the word and give the song full voice

do not let memory fade into a dim

and distant sort of half-forgotten past

but now's the moment to shout and rejoice

turn agony and anger to a hymn

and know that evil was not made to last

what is desired not all may now attain

in honest time so shorten the coarse rope

shut down the store and fence off the last slope

in case some folk will climb against the pain

you can refuse the effort and the stain

but cannot tell the massive one to cope

with what is left of what was once great scope

and now is gone we all wait for the rain

this is no season for the less-than-strong

nor for a language moderate and weak

words won't endure and so for pity's sake

just give it up and give us one last song

about the sort who did not have to seek

the shiny gold but only had to take

no one who feels the changing seasons' bite

can be assured that growth is purely good

since each tall tree each ancient of the wood

that waits there leafless through the winter night

with chilly taproot is in the same plight

as you might be and has for long withstood

the final pain in ways you wish you could

but it wont matter there'll be a last rite

spring is too short and one day sap won't rise

to renew bud and energise new leaf

but for the moment all we have is time

and universes open to our eyes

the products none of them of our belief

while every limb towards the sun must climb

not given much to metaphor as fact

the student struggles to relate her tale

each sentence on its own will sag or fail

the effort turns out bloated not compact

her model is the sermon and the tract

and writing comes to her like time in gaol

the style is cold the images are stale

and the whole enterprise with pain is packed

the reader wants so much to go outside

and take his whirling thoughts for a long walk

but finishing the job is all his pride

so from the horrid task he dare not balk

no leave nor yet excuse he has to plead

so the next essay he picks up to read

take this and jell it as remembered light

one simple gesture laughing at a joke

in middle afternoon and at one stroke

you've got it down and kept it in plain sight

when all the other moments take their flight

or disappear behind the darkest cloak

of all forgetting where the world is broke

but yet we act to make things come out right

vision is sure and clear when you are young

so slow to fade but still the edges pale

we can't recall the colour of the stone

on the south wall nor where the laundry hung

long years have passed and recollections fail

still there is crystal fire within the bone

what we have managed is to slowly fail

out of the passion where we did not mark

each fallen moment nor discern the stark

announcement of the coming winter gale

and so were lost now this message is stale

lacking all force and having no more spark

than a dead candle yet we must embark

on one more journey out beyond the pale

to where the signal has not ever gone

that says just what we are or who we were

and thus sets limits on what we might do

that way we're told the battle might be won

or ought to be if only we would dare

step out and act as if the world were new

believe the voices falling down the rift

of fading memory all lost to time

recall the faces touched with soot and grime

in days so clear and calm they seemed to drift

through subtle air and now all is too swift

hardly a moment between every chime

the downslope now but we were on the climb

and had not valued the taste of the gift

so here the choice is made and in the cold

dark of the rainy afternoon each deep

cutting word is truly cruel in its burn

the message is expected we turn old

and each day must bring reasons more to weep

even this day at eve of sunreturn

no meaning in these texts that is not bright

even in caverns that have known no sun

nor any warming heat since world begun

their sense is clarity their essence light

each word is set to open up in flight

as avian wisdom that we could not shun

even rock-bound its glories seem to stun

the wary heart with knowledge of the right

so having learnt a simple truth we turn

our faces to the task that now seems plain

to uncurl horrors and restore the chief

dependency of each old mind to earn

the wages of such learning once again

in this cold season of the fallen leaf

a single miss enough to count as grave

no one to note but you and you are sly

might grant yourself a pardon and know why

it is an easy thing to grant or save

no man or woman dares to be too brave

and nothing is less honest than the eye

or ear while happy mouth has just to lie

no one need argue they need but behave

the politic approach is what we take

in angry time when nothing matches might

and everyone needs bow before the claw

while honest people lie for hours awake

not knowing what disasters wait in night

but certain that silenced has been the law