FACES TO THE RAIN
Where are the poets in a world gone mad,
The sonnets, stanzas and quatrains?
Words are sharpest from the edge,
Where is the caesura and refrain-
In our desperation and despair?
Aught but screams and cries of pain-
And those haunting sounds of choking,
On our filth and shock,
We need alliteration, anaphora and allusion,
For there is both beauty and meaning,
In meter and rhythm,
In verse and rhyme,
There is hope and dreams,
Uplifting and uprising,
Lines in the sand and solvent in the slime
As the world turns into a carcass,
And those who have everything,
Fight each other over what is left.
There will be no ‘told you so’,
When it’s over, when we’re over
Even when a pen,
appears less mighty,
Than a bone-saw,
Who needs a press pass,
Stand up, step out,
Inspire, incite,
Put your faces to the Rain
Everything to lose
Everything to gain
Leave your umbrellas on the gangway,
Faces to the Rain
Darren W. Gall
