From a train window i watched
as the darkening sky
froze gloom on the terrace houses,
a malaise of the english classes.
Semi detached, lone mansions
all with their locked doors.
The door, the space between ‘you’ and ‘me’
and maybe a murderer or two.
Ends justify means,
we human kind fear each other,
if we’re on some vast evolutionary plan
then we are not learning.
A soldier
at the end of the Vietnam war
was quoted as saying,
“give me tomorrow!”
For so long the human race
has been promised
a better, “tomorrow?”
“a land fit for heroes to live in”
The locked doors of,
‘my space, come no further,’
tell of the atomic lie of our condition,
that is held in an eternal tension,
where the words
of a roman governor
cry down the centuries,
“what is truth”?
Well all i know is
there can be
no truth
behind locked doors.
(by Chris Pitts)