Final Conflict (Poetry)

The truth came like a hurricane
that ripped the walls of reason through,
levelled trust, tore faith in two
and left a silence throbbing, raw,
sifting hope for small remains
amongst the rubble. Mental doors

and windows shattered, fragments blown
by some great bomb blast, spread around,
hurtled to the shivering ground
where bleakness settles its cold mist,
blurs the damage writ in stone.
Felled by an almighty fist,

the sanctuary of belief,
built brick by brick, is all destroyed —
no pillar stands, the spot devoid
of any solace — air hangs chill,
counts losses heavy, smothers grief
with calm’s false ally sent to kill

off anger ( raging, knuckles white,
against injustice ) damp the fire,
drown the stirrings of desire
for retribution, swallow pain
like outsize pills, resigned to fight
the inner battle to stay sane.