Betrayal 1939 Style

by Dick Gallup

Dick Gallup

In this strange fragmented world blitzed with information
There are few things harder to bear
Than silence, so soon full of mocking voices,
The grating of ideas upon the ruined mind
Like the gnawing of insects deep within a tree
Where words run under cover into phrases
those phrases become men carrying meaningless baggage
Devouring sense into some mild porridge of rehashed thought.

You came, you saw, you departed
Piteous day clawing at the dawn
Breaking like the last wave on some forgotten stranded beach
Now lost far inland. So silence
Is like a desert, a blank in speech
A hiatus in time, a metronome in Poland
Somewhere that paused, quieted by a hand
As the sound of bombers grew into the whistle
Of bombs falling on the lost future.

Last updated November 02, 2022