Violent shrieks from cursing mouths,
A noise to numb the soul to sleep,
The chanting of the idol crowds:
“You are the wicked! Vengeance is ours!”
The well of pride flows full and deep.
Anger boiling unconstrained,
The fire stoked by itching hands,
Inferno’s heat must never wane,
The mind is safe when laying blame,
He who is victim, holy he stands.
Only never let there silence be,
And anger never let subside,
For then the eyes by light might see,
And conscience, being heard, might speak,
And frightful truth might be realised.
© 2018 MILES VENISON ALL RIGHTS RESERVED