Maggie Hall – poetry

maggie hall

Voices of War

Weaponry powered through political fear.

A dark forest lost people. Shifting built spaces, as guided paths trick. Commitment to task, controlled nature. Outcome handing death to chaos. Training minds to hate and follow, an unordered order of jackals.

Words of deconstructing fear. Propagating monster, rape and pillage, a system betrayed by raged violence. Blood meridian meteor showers. War the highest art canvassing death. Blood turns, life cycles, telephone lines escape. Baron lands divide peeling away toughened skin, veiled behind violence. Where does it begin and end? As the justice of truth lies in pain. A political cold case; Summary; Resolution; Intelligence. In a database of fingerprints, agenda and resolutions. Evidence of investigation collected and assessed. This last phase of speech hung by wars gate. Working to pay off another life, timing out the clock strikes nine. Beds left unmade for the final visit.

Trust as the postman waits Trust as communications cut Trust as the knife breaks innocent skin

Nine black angels in a warning of fire. Dancing in a threaded waltz, touching each other. A beautiful murder under the rain, a passage into the next day. A warning that yesterday is still awake. Today I witnessed the beginning of the last end. A woman nine months pregnant, an intravenous drip. Synthetic locks, gold sheathing the wanton chest. There in a solitude stands the lady looking down. filtering light through a purple haze, indigo dreams weave her into a day from past-future shades of grey. Silently another arm turns to cradle, touching the place where her child may once have been. Washing away the ghost of nine months. A collection of memories final play, a statue pink and grey. Nameless although named.

Antiquity