Who carries the carrion?
Who carries the carrion from conception to its death?
Who walks the smalling mile in slowly steepling steps?
We do not know my answers to questions we don’t feel
Nor do we know the freedom of what is cruelly real
And yet we sense a truth that no one else can touch
For hope is not eternal, springing from our guts
It is the nuts and bolts of love, and life
Caught between the farmer, husband, wife
And who can say the other is the one for every day
And who can say the other needs be sent away?
Island bound, bound, gagged our humanity
Are we there yet they cry, to be free
I see the walking corpse of government made flesh
My retching flecks its body, building sweet distress
There go the youngest memories of David’s shining Star
Our yellowing history pages calling from afar
But we are deaf to their past and our today
We turn our hearing down and our glance away
The soft sofa life together shouts leave us now,
Til our door knocks like those we cheered before
And the locks are gone like those we clapped to their shore
We are carrying the carrion that consigns us to our death
We will fight furiously their disease, to our lasting breath
(c) John Passant 18 February 2016