To The Silenced
Oh, the great city’s madness when at nightfall
The crippled trees gape by the blackened wall,
The spirit of evil peers from a silver mask;
Lights with magnetic scourge drive off the stony night.
Oh, the sunken pealing of evening bells.
Whore who in her icy shivers sheds a still-born child.
With raving whips God’s fury punishes brows possessed.
Purple pestilence, hunger that breaks green eyes.
Oh, the horrible laughter of gold.
But silent in dark caves a stiller humanity bleeds,
Out of hard metals moulds the redeeming head.
Georg Trakl, 1887-1914
|To The Silenced
|60cm x 100cm x 2cm