There is a particular science

of Evil

Which draws its ghostly blood

From the bones of hatred.

⦿

Its moment is likened to

a Ship

Strangled with strange growth

That fills the shapes of sailing

⦿

It has learned the helm of your

Reactions

And has a blunt denial that you

Float on water

⦿

Laden with untruth

Darkly smeared

We lie in others’ rotting water

And gaze at edges

⦿

For only there can freshness

Dawn

Where good becomes, beyond despair

Its own baptised survivor

⦿

©Stephen Tanham