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The Web Poetry Corner - M A Heathcote - Miles of wheeling clouds

Miles of wheeling clouds


M A Heathcote

Miles of wheeling clouds
Sit around my head
As they pound into my heart
As they stamped around my grave
I crawled...
Too the heavens doors I fall
Too the heavens doors I fall
From a world lit up
Like a traffic light
Wheeling dust & fire
By a satellite
Over wheeling clouds
Over wheeling gliding souls
Over mushroom clouds
Over chard besmirched burning human beings
Over dying dreams
Over your dying dreams
Over your dying dreams
Desolation, Pentecostal, salvation
There are no winners in a holocaust
Thereís no missions bell!
Who can tell from whatís to build
from this waist but the infidel
It isnít easy when tens of billions
Pay the cost, Pay the cost
Pay the cost
For a civilization lost
From above and below that big black corona
Who is the winner the coroner?
The Chairman of State
That mad man in his bunker
Those lonely dying women with the midwife
The child in a gene pool
Thatíll never again smile like you.
As the coroner wipes his apron...
With a burning hand of love
A priest swears its holy bedlam
Thanks praise be too God!
The time isnít nigh
It hasnít yet come to pass
Praise be to god
For these blue skies
That might just one of these days be your last
When a priest swears its holy bedlam
Donít leave the nest lads
Donít break any more precious eggs
Join those lily white chickens at home in the nest.

To visit all of M A Heathcote's poems, click HERE

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