EASTER POEM

EASTER POEM

this morning
noticed a book on the
topshelf of my library

“The History of the World”
as if
there could be
only one

but history must end some time surely?

and what happens then?
who can write history
once it has gone, it is over?

felt that this thought
had been
in my brain before
and was coming back again

and for its part
the book behaved itself
did not spring magically
up off the shelf and
down
onto the floor

all the pages breaking out
of their binding and
flowing as
if upon a river
across the hall floor

and into the lounge
and dining room

telling all my other books
their gospel news

so many other books
for my sins I am
a many book person, unfaithful
reader

should be sworn without
possibility of divorce to
the one true word

but as true words go
the narrative is scary
and there are dark,
brutally rich figures
hoping to
make it so

for what is wealth and power
if you cannot freeze-frame
time at
moment of
immortal Empire

for it is their hard work, sweat
and acumen raised them above us

and righteously

it is therefore correct and proper
that not as slaves, but
as gods
they should walk amongst us
be almighty

more than correct
and proper

it is written: they will make it so