1979
6.153
2.vi.25
for the women drowned at Þingvellir
it was out of a book far few had read
swap common wealth for punishment
the branding of thieves
and the burning of witches
eternity for hell
all here
there’s scaffold cliff
the block and the drowning pool
all come to marvel abomination
eyes made of death
verdict of church or some banishment edict
voices of judgement all gathered
here’s guilt chained to the rattly wagon
the wheel’s come off again – but wrathward!
a two weeks track to verdict foregone
old men scarred with
every second thought your death
their own not far
the cleansing list to forestall
earth shakes and the mountain comes down
they’d ring the bells for it
nights sleep sat up in a short bed
fear is a place with a name
who was it dared to know God’s will?
you’d hear the voice of the stream and the stone
how mildly the old gods thunder
incest innocent to them
but now the righteous are in charge
we forget beginning
forget how we’ve survived
held down in a woolen sack till still
in this the merest whim of a land
and these the freshest flowers
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.