No stench is worse
Than a cheerless windy promenade
Stacked with crushed bodies
A gangrenous festering sore
One grieves less for the dead
More for those living on
Not so many years ago
Holidays, weekends, leisure spaces
Offered
Fleeting but decisive sensations
Strength, triumphs, celebrations
Passed into oblivion
Horror now lurks in every nook and corner
With an enormous capacity to detonate
Disgust, horror, outrage
Public places strewn with bullet-ridden corpses
Mutilated and forgotten
A muted undercurrent of simmering hate
Survives and endures
In the waiting room of life
Armed with tears and tumult
Intolerance saunters on....
