Poetry Writing
christopher godber  

This Modern Age of Man

You put your heart on the page, they don’t read or hear it beat,
you put your naked heart blood pumping ache on canvas –
nobody looks;

Repetitions from a diseased mind, a morbid obsession with pain
they pre-judge and juggle your desires
cackling with wine stained lips, cultural elites.
Billionaires sleep on steeds of black in high rise buildings
whilst we scrimp and fight for air in a densely choking concrete,
in a sky bled with treason, the choking night, bleeding.

You pull your bleeding heart from your chest, wrenched as
gift of poet from cavities – they demand a price and chortle
‘this romanticism cannot last, how long before he loses an ear’
chortle chortle

Every inch of me burns bright light in an endless spiritual pain
nobody looks, nobody wants to any more;
the death of the world continues with a newscast at 6pm on the dot.

Crucify yourself to your visions;
Nail yourself to your own weakness you placid creature
slave to your desire, Jew alone in a desert, burning and alone.

Weeping. Tearing at one’s own skin and bone, this prison of flesh.
Burnt and infinite howl.

The modern age of man – uniform acceptance of mediocrity
that burning in the brain is not needed, we want daytime telly
and plenty of it. Oil refinery dreams gleamed from desert shores
easy answers, plenty of war please and 24/7 coverage.

I judge you man, and my judgement is final;
silence that leads to rebirth -screaming and spluttering
from fresh cosmic womb a holy scream that will shake the mountains
and empty silence into it’s hiding place, grace.
A Utopian paradise of soul.

Hmm, The ending is surprising –