We’re to believe the campaign is over and
adversaries rest; a bemused quiet ensues
as no truce bears witness or claims verity,
loose cannons ply malice, glaring aloof in
bruising air’s raw uneasiness - none have
had to run their banner yet, chancing fate,
but we’ve missed inscrutable pages of the
tract that was to stabilise who we were
I cautiously breathe, I am not your enemy
there’s nothing at stake and little to gain in
assertively claiming victimisation by proxy
while being all too wittingly misinterpreted,
the same cloak swathes us; we’ve made
go-betweens hostile to their own enmity
© 3 November 2014, I. D. Carswell
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