Alone 

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.

Abandonment.

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.

 

Alone.

 

Brad Evans (2017)