GRENFELL

 

GRENFELL

There is a crematorium in Northwest London 5030 nautical miles north of the centre of the Earth overlooking denominations of community from 24 Storeys high

where children are the centrifugal element of light and love colours rainbows 

Here stands a royal palace and the council motto ' how good to live in unity'

but there were deeds done in shadowed chambers churning the addiction of fat. Under the table handshakes in Masonic tradition secured purses in soldered fists  

 

Pagans of parliamentary practice 

telling us that this world was ours were the most duplicitous cause theirs was the kingdom the power and the glory of business syndicates 

declaring legitimacy and the definition of illegitimate from barbarity to the thought of it

 

Then the litany of cash for questions and policies for lobbyists

evolved from settling red tribes on arid reservations pre tower blocks 

 

Diligence is futile where the individual is as significant as the small print in their safety reports like pharmaceuticals, they prescribe you against the one you need 

This tragedy is the backhand of democracy 

burning like the blackest candle

smothering the sky

classically ratifying the bloodthirsty anaemia of empire 

 

The minions by unwritten charter be damned and let them be damned again for if it is not named it need not have been so 

The rich can continue to live off of the blood of the poor

No not until

but forever more 

 

There's a broken frame in west London 

the shape of a vertical thorn 

The elementary tug o war between Yahweh and Lucifer still stretching to the heavens from the hellfire that rose to bathe it

Her stairwells creak under hydras teeth 

whose gasping screams were never released 

because they swallowed their melted throats 

choking their rights to say goodbye

 

Purgatory will come to them in a wonderland of moss and foxes, birds nesting, squirrels, insects, daisies and spirits that glide beside the light 

Grenfell is a gravestone as lonely as an abandoned, a pragmatic act of capitalism 

An idle landmark where restless sufferance hangs out as a reference of data as collateral become mere things in crescendos with Pegasus wings 

Here stands an open wound that is becoming a scab 

and when they remove it it will scar like keloid on melanin impervious to the doctored stitching of requiems 

for the eulogies of the children hurt that bit more when you say them

knowing the Fire Brigade were violated when they should've called a priest