To no avail

Shadows in confetti darkness
broken by streaks of sunlight.
On flowerbeds the children
and babies lay crying
for peace.

Dormant souls are pierced by
furrowed clouds while
the holy stones and twigs lay on the earth.
The angel whispers,
this eternal harbinger of truth.

Why ! The meek ones
are humiliated by the ghosts of penance
whilst wisteria winds it’s way
along the trellis path.

A pedal boat upon the deep green lake
as Gardia’s cathedral tower
rises above the rocks.

Only the power of imagination
can disperse the shadows
and turn the babies cries to laughter

A mob , an ocean of believers,
draw graffiti on the city walls,
waiting for Jericho to fall

A godless passion
within medieval discipline,
skulls testifying piety and justice.
To no avail

As the non-believers crowd
An already packed railway station;
vendors and porters with hats;
ladies with monkeys.

Never to stray too far
from peace
and solitude,
though ageing with
sweet temper

A reason for departure
from this wrecked faith
as it runs on crooked wheels
with bloodless precision

Tumbling down hills
Monstrously illuminating the landscape
Scenes of whore and redemption
A torch in the cavern of life

Swaying to the tone of a saxophone
Playing the blues
This ancient club is for
one creed only
and ambiguity is order of the day