Bitter Centres

What blooms are these,

flowering in the wilderness?

What fruits of civilization ripen here,

carefully tended in such barren sands?

Far out where hopes of welcome blossom.

What filigree threads

dance on the perspiring horizon,

flowing like silver gossamer?

A pretty spider web of steel.

Moving closer, there are no ordered woods and gardens here,

but strange things sprout:

perhaps these cultures are just persistent weeds -

or beauty rich and rare?

On this golden soil of our wide brown land,

we are surely young and free -

but

not even the timeless desert will erase

our high tech steel alloy

razor wire

curling through the desert like a many-fanged serpent

biting the hearts of mothers.

And all around we feel this strange precipitation on the sand –

Could it be spring blossom from some hidden oasis, carried by the breeze?

Or the bleak leaves of autumn wafted to this desolate spot?

Or is it the gentle, mourning rain

of those who took us at our word

and sought our help?