Waste Land

The waste land looms in the litany The wind makes coming from The eyeless sockets of dead buildings Charred by the fire of sudden grief Brinking the undrained swamp of history. Smell the cordite Fuming across the sky In sinister bands of clouds And still upon the shore Crawling from the limp and placcid water Comes the crippled ungospled towards A false Jerusalem. The hollow sounds of hollow men Blows north to south and back again Behold the rising in the east A new sun On a spiders web of light The west is hypnotized Wearied by its many flight Its frazzeled brain become bedazzled Over the thing that was the puzzle Of myth breakers and king makers Giving rise to the hollow sound Vapid cheer That knows the end is near But cannot vacate the fired citadels Chained to the charcoal memory Of a throbbing Jerusalem.