The Country of a Thousand Years of Peace
to Hans Lodeizen(1924-1950)
Here they all come to die,
Fluent therein as in a fourth tongue.
But for a young man not yet of their race
It was madness you should lie
Blind in one eye, and fed
By the blood of a scrubbed face;
It was a madness to look down
On the toy city where
The glittering neutrality
Of clock and chocolate and lake and cloud
Made every morning somewhat
Less than you could bear;
And makes me cry aloud
At the old masters of disease
Who dangling high above you on a hair
The sword that, never falling, kills
Would coax you still back from that starry land
Under the world, which no-one sees
Without a death, its finish and sharp weight
Flashing in his own hand.
Created by
guccipiggy
Last modified
2005-03-17 09:04 PM
Hospital setting
