Retreat

“I shall be your abbess,” she says.
“Pack your things and leave with me.
I have a place to which we can retreat
Before the darkness comes.” I nod.
The darkness clearly is at hand, its
Tribunes everywhere ahead of mobs
Attacking schools and clinics, shelters,
Voting places. Tolerance is out of fashion.
Orthodoxy of the cruelest, coarsest sort
Is back in vogue. It never wholly goes
Away. I start to gather my possessions.
Like someone about to fast, I feast a final
Time upon the cityscape outside my
Window. Once the light has been
Extinguished, I will not be back.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 31 times
Written on 2022-01-01 at 23:22

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


carolo The PoetBay support member heart!
I shall be your abbess, this is funny in a somber dark output. indeed the end of times is coming I hope before my birthday to hopefully live a remaining hectic life
2022-01-02