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)