Poem of the Day – Blast pack

Blast Pack


Chapel grief, in road cavern grave.

Spiked menace gripped poverty, with purities shadow.

Grasped in a moment of mission, based on misconception.

Slithering gratuitously into synapses revelation.

Truth never stable, no wobble allowed for fallacy

Pressed in teetering bunker, a concrete hallow

A bath in blood drunk from slit throat horror

Probing canister gassed, as tubular bell rings

Chimes clanking for remembrance, a poppy dogs dinner

Who owns the right to life extermination

A babbling downcast rancour

Evil is live black wards

Keepers of wave foam crash on the shore of practise

Bury the soul

Deep and definite

Dressed for the occasion

A prison


November 23rd

Patrick Turner-Lee Copyright 2014

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