Conflict

by Gary Beck

Long night’s tide
drifting shoreward.
Sea muse chanting
of the eternal dawn,
swifter than a cry of pain,
pounding madly,
a frightened schizophrenic on a prison door,
floating on the bitter fumes
of endless industrial nights,
rocking, rocking,
through the crime night streets of cities
furtively fading into doorways
when grim cadavers march like Caesar’s legions.
All Gaul is divided….
Night, day, anguish….
Clashing barbarian host.