Well the wolves were baying at the moon
the band were plucking up a new tune
underneath this blue gloom
we were all
praying for an end

ask for intervention
living through suspension
wondering why it hadn’t come so soon

buildings were dust
houses were flame
rockets were red heirlooms

houses were dust
buildings were flame
we held our hands under the new
world, birthing again

and our tears turned to stone
failing to wet blue uniforms
crushing crowds, endings
everything ending

diamonds to dust
freedom to flame
yellow to a shade of
bloody red December rain

choices to dirt
options to flame
we were afraid of the other men
the other men
the press don’t name

we pulled away
changing to parts, spare and
soaked in engine oil
and blame. Framed by a new moon

listening to our new gloom
taking bets with our hands cuffed
and mouths turned grey
with bargains of ash

our streets were ruin
our people were ruined
we wanted a dream, and

we reached for the moon
falling short to exits and concrete
backdrops
exploding into rains of
blood and new, tighter reins

students with black eyes
blue suited men with prizes
truncheons and surprises
copper-scented over loudspeakers

uprising to dust
cameras to flame
people ashamed, hanging by threads
fed to the wolves
baying to the new tune.

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About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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