Ashes and diamonds

Poem by Roger Iredale

There are no diamonds in the ashes of despair. 
Anger writhes along each cortège as broken souls
go down to brandished flags and guns. Hope seems lost.

What histories hammered on the anvil of untruth
are broken under tablets hacked from stone? What
fake memories are conjured for the yet unborn?

The yet unborn: hopeful, helpless, hungry for joy,
they grow below the ferment of the times, reach
fibres, roots, networks, branches, leaves above.

Now is the time for wisdom, truth, the power to challenge
ancient orthodoxies, the sagas of interminable pasts
and unkind words. To touch the diamonds of the new.

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