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How Well the Patriot Sings (Pro Patria Mori)
Softly scratch
The sallow flesh
With the caressing grind
Of that ashy milk.
The poet’s mind,
A mouldy blade,
Edged in soot and ruin
As feet tramp down scorched earth.
The Line!
The Line!
Inked in rust and soot,
A jagged cleft,
Stained black-red.
Man the Line!
A flash of viscera,
Like Catholic canon,
Cannon,
A blast of blooming fury.
Then comes the quiet of the next era,
A hushed harmonica,
In an old Train Car.
The sallow flesh
With the caressing grind
Of that ashy milk.
The poet’s mind,
A mouldy blade,
Edged in soot and ruin
As feet tramp down scorched earth.
The Line!
The Line!
Inked in rust and soot,
A jagged cleft,
Stained black-red.
Man the Line!
A flash of viscera,
Like Catholic canon,
Cannon,
A blast of blooming fury.
Then comes the quiet of the next era,
A hushed harmonica,
In an old Train Car.
Published 24th Jan 2017
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