North

I stood on the deck of the ship
As it pushed through the ice
At Bothnia's northern end.
It wasn't so cold as I thought
It would be, but why had I come?
I must have had reasons.
The bay, I was told, is polluted,
But, covered in white, in ice,
In the cold and the sun, it
Seemed pristine while the world
To the south clearly was toxic,
And violent, corrupt. The wars,
Like sparks on a piece of paper,
Were flaring and gradually
Growing together. The mobs,
Gone sullen, were howling
For vengeance. They'd placed
One of their own, a buffoon,
In the White House. Dangerous
Times were coming, colder than
What I was feeling as I heard
The ice groan and fracture. Sweden
Was west; Finland was east, havens
Perhaps from the tumult below.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 68 times
Written on 2017-01-24 at 15:07

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