Black ink and sunbeams poetry

Concrete spires,

billowing, sour the rain,

you, your fortune built

upon the death of all things

put out the tongues of those

who dare speak to what you

refuse to see

brother, beneath the earth,

in the tunnels, by my side,

our fate written in coal dust

count the days in minutes,

world-blind

our lives,

laden down, cry out,

love, deferred, went with the wasting sickness

while the white collars in the pews

pass round the gilded platter

and preach gratitude,

for God waits for us above

the clouds