Saviour
A poem
I can’t force the rebirth
I can’t make it happen for you
I can’t remove the shackles
with my worn out hands
I am not your saviour
I am using my callouses
to block my porous holes
to stop myself
from bleeding out
my body heavy,
hard to move
hard to lift
hard to live.
I can’t keep seeing your cage
and having to stand, helpless,
having to stand, useless,
having to stand it.
Your possessions are still bloody,
all that we left behind remains
now engulfed by a shadow, sometimes more
like a cloud which follows
our every living moment, mostly ignored
but occasionally unearthed and freed to
wreak havoc once more, to cause its fiercest whirlwind yet
to disintegrate the years we spent trying to build new peace,
new life, new lives, new homes, new quiet, new bodies,
a new new, a new future
