They Sang Hymns

Last night, they sang hymns in Kiev;

this morning, they sandbag the malls.

Saturday, schoolboys with rifles.

Sunday, late shoppers man the walls.

The sky burns bright – pale blue to blush

to red – obliterates the stars.

Commuters, to the metro rush;

but no buses, no trains, no cars…

come, unfriendly bombs, rain fire

on these family homes, held dear;

churn fountains and streams to mire.

Upturn dreams; open eyes; unclear.

18 thoughts on “They Sang Hymns

  1. I don’t know what to say any longer…I can’t stand that things never change. That stupid, small, greedy, egomaniacs just keep doing the same thing over and over again and everyday people are the murdered, bloody mess, in their wake.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. ‘Saturday, schoolboys with rifles.
    Sunday, late shoppers man the walls.’

    It’s something we recognise as everyday life turned on its head, isn’t it? Mother’s meeting in the town square to mix Molotovs on a Saturday afternoon: it’s no kid’s party.

    Your final word reads as an uneasy anagram.

    Liked by 1 person

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