No More Words

No more words,

No more words,

Because corpses don’t have futures.

Fish in a pond that’s slowly drying out in the desert.;

cracked lips sucking straws, soaking stinging hydration.

I’ve come to realise nothing that breathes is perfect.

If the possibility of sleep arises,

I’d choose their dreams not mine.

Don’t tell the mourning how there are no more words;

Just let them write their goodbyes on paper.

No more noise as the fallen bodies pass through Wootton Bassett,

no passing cheers for the return of sons and daughters.

Union jack flagged over boxes, the procession of silence.

Notice how the politicians have no more words;

failing to appear in the crowd for repatriation,

Failing to salute but willing to send away.

Don’t say a word about the 100,000 civilians,

caught in the crossfire of their country,

or the British death toll, that now exceeds

Thatcher’s Falkland.

Don’t tell them how there are no more words

Or how the dead don’t dream…