History is easy, it’s now that is hard.
Now, that is happening, which might lead
anywhere, now, the unfolding seed.
Now, as our fires explode to rain more charred
ashes of paperbacks, memories, flesh,
(that ought, but does not rhyme with death) and bone,
now, as we stand together and alone
all deeds that came before set in a mesh
leading to this, and on; we fear what’s unrevealed.
The future grows from this, from now, today,
with these events that can’t be wished away.
now is the time we have, our only field.
But what to do? We don’t all feel the same,
but all that dies tonight, dies in our name.
20th March 2003