DESCRIPTION
A psychological and physical description of life in the shadow of terrorism. Great Britain has endured this situation for many years and I am extremely saddened to know that it's bloody hand has now stained my adopted home. [145 words]
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
I've been writing poetry and songs since the earliest times that I can remember. The current submission is one that makes the reader think and also, I hope, empathize with the subject. [July 2001]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (4) A Message To The Exile (Poetry) Animal imagery is used to emphasize soul searching in this poem about non conformance and the difficulties that this poses in today's hectic world. [70 words] Frosted Glass (Poetry) Bathroom frosted glass distorts one's view as much as this distortion of a perfect world. [170 words] Living In The Eighties (Poetry) The eighties saw the dawn of a new impersonalism and surprisingly enough corresponded with the genesis of mass computing. At one time it was all about "making a fast buck" and social consciousness wa... [104 words] Verse For A Greetings Card (Poetry) A piece of light verse to counterbalance my more somber studies. [39 words]
Belfast Martin Milner
Stealthy steps through a pall of gloom
Balls of fire glaze a crumbling room
In conflagrtion's dawn.
Searing smoke blasts mortar down
Barbed bullets rip through this divided town,
As fresh hatreds are born.
Rows of shields, the porcupine's quills
Stand firm among these blood-stained hills
Where faceless armies sprout.
Flesh convulsing in sectarian streets
Where ghostly units pound the beats
The screaming sirens shout.
Belfast burns, her soul in flames
Crying for release
Scratching at the bars of pain,
The prisoners of peace.
Husbands kill and stone the troops
For them no garden fence
But membership of narrow groups,
A gunman's twisted sense.
Anguish stalks the battered stone
Of a way of life in tears,
Whose ageless rifts destroy the homes
As the winds whip up the fears.
Burning, turning another scorched page
In the reams of smouldering days
Lives crushed in the torrent's rage
Are lost in a timeless maze.
Fragmented city, steeped in sadness
For your scars who is to blame?
But where passion's conflict leads to madness
The future's an established game.
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