Final solution

Raised across the parapet of mind,

words frowned in distant gathering,

horizon-huddled holding to the edge

of possibility defined, waiting for

release upon the brooding ledge of

endless misunderstandings, restless

as they honed edges to deadly shine,

ready to cut without mercy; wielded

in a winnowing of mechanical fear,

compressing dry, cracked stalks of

hope into bales, tied for distant, ever

imagined Winters where life could

chew listlessly at  dried remnants

of what had once been lush, ebullient

green salvation, thrust from fallow

earth, reaching always for the distant

anxious sky where sullen blues held

court for scattered sunbeams, tripping

through realities which danced slowly

at the bidding of bestial breeze, and

delicate, whispering winds which

rattled hollow husks, bereft of fertile

grains, abandoned, sterile, grieving

in those fields of futures known,

and unknown, where Occam thoughts

spread like scythes, laying waste,

rendering, reducing potential harvest

in death knells of dusty, dirty dying;

so did the paddocks sigh piteously,

deprived of all which had been

promised, before the war within

demanded one last, final solution.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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