Peter Lilly: Poems

peterlillypoetry · Displaced redemption There was a world, displaced from its axis by repeated tragedies of its own making, as the inhabitants attempt to grasp the credit for it's own creating. An entire macrocosm misaligned by embezzling clutches and throning lusts. Who's history is marked by a needless taking, and just in case, a pious faking to appease a possible divinity as either a patsy or a machine. There was a world, decomposing in it's own folly. Spinning itself dizzy flailing after impervious redemption. And inside that world there was a people displaced from its milk and honey by a ruling superpower. As the globalising tar of Rome spread to paint the Empire one culture, this people had been waiting. Listening in silence for the reason of their plight, Waiting for the sword of a rallying leader to severe their shackles, and the throats of the chain-bearers, alike. Waiting with the same attitude ...

When another's border is opaque, windows blocked with the coagulated death of hopeful escapees, reinforcing our borders  is a reinforcement of that death. When political concern  prioritises  the comfort of British holiday-makers over the survival and humanity of an other, we commit atrocities. But we want, need our distractions, excuses to turn our heads so Cameron, please don't mention refugees.  When he speaks of  'illegal migrants' to refer to people who  face death at home  and are cleaved from their soil, face death on their own borders  and burrow beneath detection, face death on the M editerranean  praying to stay buoyant through squalls  and over sharks, face imprisonment in Europe and attempt to assimilate as they climb north, face death in the dysentery of the glass-ceiling-camp of Calais and wait and wait not allowed to move forward or turn back, he knows he speaks of refugees and he lies. ...