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‘Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,
And Usna’s children died.’  – W.B. Yeats

Now is Not the Time…

the burning stench of liquid iron, oozing
clouds of ether, billowing from hell’s hot gate
midst crimson pools of life on pews, congealing
silent screams of innocents who met a too soon fate
with cool resign they sacrifice the children
offering thoughts and prayers as consolation
while coddling the vain and self-indulgent
as more blood spills they crush all condemnation
it makes no sense, this detour from all reason
building up tall walls just keep monsters inside
until this ends, the meek remain in season
don’t believe them when they say they care…they lie

~kat

Not sure what style of poem this is. It started out at a Rispetto, but I had more to say that two stanza’s would allow. So here it is then, a modified verse that rhymes and plods along in an iambic cadence some 11 syllables per line. Of course this is the ninth day of Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats. Today’s inspiration comes once again from‘The Rose of the World’ by W.B. Yeats.