AtLast_[07]

>> Tom Barry <<

To Ur I'd gone From ere I've come

Dripping wet with blood of Turks So thick with which the Tigris runs Between the graves of ancient works. Through Euphrates reeds, the Hun Stole with deadly brace in hand As we their foe were made undone By baser foe in our own land. Snakes concealed in under-hangs. Others lurked within the rocks. The worst were those that hid their fangs And loosed their venom dressed in frocks. I'm Tom Barry, back from Eden, Still in soldier's boots and trunk. I heard of frenzied vipers feeding, Of Clark and Pearse and Connolly sunk. Stuporous kith in sad regress, Uprooted kin, embattled, sapped, Soiled, fouled without redress, Enjoined to mire. Baited. Trapped. From craggy cliffs to bogs they're pressed By serpents, spawned of would be masters. I'll consume the legless crawling pests And spit the soulless hissing bastards. Where has my father's garden gone? Is it our looted flower they're hanging? An invader blights my Babylon And dins the still with drums a'banging. I left, a boy, in thirst of war,

A spice which soured in my taste, So drunk of blood to wish no more And yet it was a quench in haste.

Oh, my own, my Babylon

A pestilent crop of silence sewn.