July 24, 2005

The last sentries

This is our time for piety
Some rigid sobriety
A death watch for cities
A wake for the laws

The supply lines are cut
We've run out of Glen Livet
And on some other day
We might really have cared

They're coming, still coming
So we'll get busy lying
Tell me we wait in the park
For the fireworks show

Posted by natasha at July 24, 2005 11:48 PM | Fiction | Technorati links |
Comments

Your pome reminded me of one I find myself muttering on the bad days:

The Age Demanded

            The age demanded that we sing
        And cut away our tongue.

              The age demanded that we flow
          And hammered in the bung.

              The age demanded that we dance
              And jammed us into iron pants.

              And in the end the age was handed
              The sort of shit that it demanded.
--Ernest Hemingway

Posted by: Michael at July 26, 2005 09:41 AM