24/09/2025
MARWAN BEOFUS
Moat
Take notice of the cries -
these are not for happy skies.
Our kindred are buried
beneath the concrete shrouds,
the red of their dead
unseen beneath the rubble.
I am tired
and sore.
My mind is young and unready
for lesions on lesions.
There are sores
that no child can heal.
Why is the animal
the animal in us,
the human animal,
so tall and true when it
comes to hurt?
Call the names out loud.
Nothing happens.
No one comes.
The roll is read
until the matches are lit.
Burn them.
I hear this voice,
Burn them.
No redeemer is near
but the ward releases itself.
The mad break out; the sane break in.
The dead stay dead.
Asylum is the hill
we see across the river.
Beckon us but no carry?
The river is too deep.
MARWAN BEOFUS 2025