A Prayer for the Poor of Spirit

Where there was once
a heart of fire.
There are burning embers,
smouldering and hot,
but not quite lit.

A feeling of resignation
fills the air.
The change has been steady:
from compassion and love
to the vulgarity of malice.

And what of the soul ?
The precious thing
that once distinguished us from beasts.
Well it’s been lost.
Like God and faith, and everything.

And life is now nothing.
A percentage of a percentage.
Digits on a balance sheet.
Moving ever downwards,
with no reconciliation at the end.

Oh yes I know Double Entry,
it should not be applied to people.
People are more than simple profit.
They flame brightly
and are alive.

In the old days
I used to make fire.
With newspapers and sticks,
adding coal at the end for fuel.
A raw life, with meaning.

Tell that to those
who extinguish your soul.
Pray not for release or oblivion.
but add air, wood, paper and burn;
burn baby, burn !


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