four shredded sheets…

nothing
left
of
the dream
cracks
in the rampart
have
let
truth’s darkness
overwhelm
the dim light
of
national myths
now
the broken 
sharp
edges
of
reality
protrude
into
each day
severing hope
from
well-tutored
promises

 

 

the smell…

i’m not sure
why i didn’t notice
it before
perhaps
the window
was partially opened
and
i must
have been closer
to
the window
so
the stench
went
unnoticed
but
i’ve heard
others
speak
of
it
but
i was certain
for awhile
that
they were
quite
mistaken
but
now
the smell
is
totally
oppressive
putrid smells
of
a slaughterhouse
bends
my body
to
the ground
as
i retched
when
i realize
that
in
the darkness
of
these
last few years
it was
the smell
of
the rotting corpse
of
freedom

imperceptible to some…

©2019 Charles Wm Martin

i hear faint heart beats
pulsing and growing each day
like molten anger
veins pumping with odium
ready to bleed uncontrolled