Poem: Break in the Clouds

Break in the Clouds

The stones upon dead beaches 

lie with oil that’s dripping.

And the cry of all the wildlife

echoes in the distance.

Along with all the voices

of the ones that weren’t “God’s children”.

So you walk with eyes shut tight

for how else can you glimpse a future?

And try to keep your mind straight, 

your body calm and sober.

For within the darkness you search for the silhouette of justice,

which has, long been smothered by the prime minister of hatred

who speaks with a slippery tongue and is a master of phatic language.

Seek from him only lies for he’s not known for honest answers.

And then plead for the rain to stop.

So tired, tired of waiting,

waiting for a break in the clouds.

The road like a line

drawn by a fat magic marker.

The engine like a static

on a once harmonious frequency.

The ale that kept you warm

has since left you cold and empty. 

Close these beaten eyes momentarily

to perceive, the nightmarish premonition 

as it stretches out and fills your field of vision.

Under the pressure of a life so artificial

there kneels, a sea of people weakening.

A stagnant air they’re breathing,

a melancholy song they’re singing,

a hopeless river they’re trawling,

a boundless wall they’re climbing.

Wailing; dying; ebbing; breaking, 

for a roar above that does not hear them.

Escape from this with your eyes and ears to look and listen,

just how subtle is the difference?

So tired, tired of waiting,

waiting for a break in the clouds.