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.