UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY


SIMON FRIEL

the coming insurrection

all my heroes are junkies.
visionaries,
holy and defrauded in rejection,
comatose on a lost highway to paradise.

sleeping dogs lie awake.
tempting night.
                    mourning
knells at dawn:
automatic resurrection floods day into subjugation.

city is isolation peopled.
pre-paid advertisements of bought fears
moments
movements devoid of contemplation.

embryonic decimation of self.

silent bones of living dead chime in the half-light.
half-life.
this nirvana is a false and perishable commodity.
the ringing in your ears true;
a shrill echo from the abyss which has swallowed your soul.

open your eyes to the sky.

pale faced Selene draws brilliance from violet dusk to night.
howl at her.
hold her in the palm of your hand.
eat the sun.
beyond
within
whole worlds await
to devour you.

salute a single magpie.
you are privileged
a precious gift that can be beautiful.
shed doubt.
believe.
realise.

the new nature is green
brown purple
blue
and perfect.

we have surpassed our heroes.
the path before us is clear and determined.
small stones whisper entreaties as they scatter down from our mountain top.

the coming insurrection is now.









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