Who gets paid for honour?
Bloody bandages,
Loss of limbs
That only skims
The surface.
Pornography of disaster
Or would you rather
Look away?
I no longer can.
Not enough time,
People to meet;
I always lived
On easy street.
But a man restored
Can make a difference,
Not just plaster
Over walls.
Already broken,
Soaking in the blood
Of those who came before,
No reverence paid.
But the calls haunt me
I hope that’s understood.