The sky, and books, and those we love,
And if they crash down from above
With climate change, and censorship,
And jackboots drag them from our grip…
No easy comfort is there now?
When half of “us” are “them” somehow
And wanted this, at least to fuck
The world in rage and fear. Tough luck.
The tiny victories we mark
So slowly out of justice’s arc
Lie trampled, as imperfect falls
To petty evil, how that galls.
But trampled weeds spring up again
And hope peeps out amid the pain
And whispers time will surely see
These things will pass: but so will we.
I’m getting old, four years is quite
A chunk of time to live despite,
And such a loss! And have we got
To keep on trying? And for what?
The future rests on people who
Won’t even try to make it true…
Why give a damn? Why should I care?
The soft temptations of despair.
But actually we haven’t lost.
A setback, yes, a real cost
But Sauron hasn’t got the ring
It’s not “the end” of anything
We go on now from here, today
And every day, and really “they”
Aren’t orcs and trolls but people who
Can choose and change like me and you.
And we can reach each other, touch,
And work on what there is, as much
As we can, human, fragile, reach
Comfort each other, make, learn, teach.
9th November 2016