by Robin Shepard
When hope is dead and buried with the rest,
A great gladness wells up across the land.
The devils of history spring out from their nest.
Voices of crackpots contend with the best,
And legions of militants strike up the band
When hope is dead and buried with the rest.
Heroes and deserters are honored with zest
At a feast of carnage on blood-soaked sand.
The devils of history spring out from their nest.
The slaughtered innocents still are blessed
to die before the flames have been fanned.
When hope is dead and buried with the rest,
The old gods are treated to a proper inquest.
Their towers topple and they leave the grandstand.
The devils of history spring out from their nest.
Good becomes evil and evil’s a lovefest.
The world turns round as if it’s been planned.
When hope is dead and buried with the rest,
The devils of history spring out from their nest.
Robin Shepard has had poems in The New York Quarterly, among other journals. Shepard received an MFA in Writing from Vermont College in 2006 and is at present a development officer for a California community college and a collector of mid-century arts and crafts.
