Sunday, 11 August 2013

Testament


I have been listening
to God all night.
It is the raw wind slapping
up from the sea, bored
with wrecking the port
and now claws tirelessly,
heartlessly, at the roof truss.
It means nothing by it, asks
nothing, loves nothing, it
creates and destroys
and in its whirling wrack
go all our futile toys.

I have been deafened
by God all night.
Its voice is a detuned
radio, a blast of mangled
sound that hurts the ear.
If it means anything, we
cannot know, being
the language of rocks
and blood, the pulse
that forms and kills.
I feel its beat behind my eye
It pounds: Yóu múst díe.

I have been blazing
with God all night.
Its fire has burned me
out of every refuge, my
flaming clothes have dropped
and, naked, I make ready
to receive the final scorch.
But, perhaps, I am a
spark longing for its forge,
a brand meant to burn.
When all the dross is gone
and spent, I will return the
life the fire has lent.