By Bill Cotter
It is a travesty of dawn, this dank
And oily semi light, oozing through
The alleys, the shattered windows and blank,
Deserted streets. Where laughing children drew
Their dreams, or scattered scarlet autumn leaves,
Feeling the thrill of cascading delight,
The grim Apocalyptic horse now heaves
Its armour plated bulk from dark to light
And gunshots ring out, sharp as glass cracking.
From a window, thinner than a spider,
A man falls, is defiant cry dying
With his body, blood soaked in the gutter
And, through the broken ribs of the city,
A child wanders, vainly seeking pity.
Artwork by Kathryn Lamont.