There is a moment of blinded silence
Below that deep blue sky
Of Summer
Before the blast-wave blew me over
Bringing again that joy of life:
But whose the severed limb, shoe-wearing,
That landed here among the bloodied rubbled dust?

There was a building, there, among a crowded chosen street,
A superbly-crafted device detonated
To bring some people's dream one memorable moment
Closer:
How many deaths, this time,
To balance the deeds
Of their past?

There is no grief, within me, and even the brief smile of satisfaction
Is gone to leave that knowing which knows
Each war - real, made, implied - for the ecstasy it is
As we who live for triumph
Gather up our selves to stalk
Those shadowed spaces where few dare
To dream:
I, we, a becoming...
 
 
 
 

DW Myatt