Richard Pierce

Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter


This day, of all days

Rain, outside, leaks
in, with the wind,
grey, too much alive,
while we remember
the dead.

Sudden light, a hole
in the sky, exploded,
restless cloud, too
much brightness for

Nothing new, in
the cold, all old
and trapped in the
past, the grief,
the lost.

Some celebrate, some
mourn, amongst thatch,
tiles, clay lump,
tradition, and bile.
For what?

What we remembered, we
forget. What we learnt,
we unlearn. Humankind
is a greedy beast, for war,
for sacrifice.

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