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Alone. Is there a more painful word?


Merchant ships set sail.

Plying bodies as their trade.

Bristol. Liverpool. Ports of no call.

Oceans filled with unmarked graves.


Alone. Is there a more savage word?


A cartography for the masses.

Enlightened lines on empty maps.

Abducting children, the promissory labour

Gordian bonds. A scientific Cross.


Alone. Is there a more violent word?


Soldiers marching forward.

Forever England. Where the paupers lay.

Trenches dug for eternal resting.

Pity the working class slaves.


Alone. Is there a more devastating word?


Monumental battles, still they continue.

Never again. Motoring time.

A solitary death amongst millions.

Myth of Nations. Progress divine.


Alone. Is there a more fearful word?


Our Enemies now amongst us.

A terrifying refrain.

Planes. Trains. Hope. All weaponised.

Imagination brutally slain.


Alone. Is there a more tragic world?


Cities of millions. Connected by fate.

Walking past. Invisible armies without coffins. Only the streets.

The boulevards. Continue with names.


Alone. Is there a more desperate word?


Solitary confinement. Domestic.


Awaiting the next visit.

Punches. Fill the sanctuary air.


Alone. Is there a more sorrowful word?


Kind acts of betrayal.

Broken memories. Wounding now.

Grieving for a future.

Never to pass. Life in torn.


Alone. Is there a more shameful word?


Sanctifying claims of humanity.

The worldless denied.

What promise? What possibility?

Another casualty. Needlessly reminds.




Brad Evans (2017) 


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