Sometimes,
when walking down
the cobbled streets of this young republic
History as history as
the story beyond the stories told
creeps up on you silently
murderously precise
chilling in its horror
unmistakable in its terror
flashing golden in the street
embedded silently
into the very solidity you stand on,
shifting the ground beneath your feet.
*
In that moment
bending low in a ghostly bow
all else is silence
even memories of that great music
that was once the sole hallmark of this
old and ancient soil
a once-fragmented space
ruled by dukes and lords and princes
for centuries past
this battleground of faiths
this incubator of deep and deepest thoughts
unified ruthlessly under an unwilling emperor
and a rebellious king
who fraternized with the French
to receive sovereignty
the kingly crown
who’s son of his son
would go mad with love and life
and create breathtaking fairytales
that today are admired,
celebrated and duplicated all round.
* * *
A Lady with an ë
once wound along these rivers
and through these hills in a chaise and four,
wondering at this densely forested space
living quietly beyond the fingers of
what was known as civilization;
a place untouched by the wonders of the world
or so she thought
birthplace of so many geniuses in music
and thinkers of great, complicated thoughts.
And yet I wonder
if she in her elegance
could have foreseen that the very rivers and trees
the very hills and towns and cities
she visited and documented with such admiration
would one day harbour such industrialised insanity
such satanical banality
that went beyond the guillotined terror
she and her peers knew too well.
For that was the real horror, was it not
that was the ultimate shock
that civilisation could be rendered
null and void
by its very own foundations,
that loyalty could be despicable
obedience horrendous
silence inexcusable
and rationality the ultimate weapon
to destroy all faith in safety valves.
*
And now it is understood that
decrees are needed
rules and laws and regulations
set in metaphorical stone
to emblazon the coordinates for humanity.
For it was proven beyond doubt
in those awful twelve years
that you cannot trust anyone
no faith, no ideology, no religion
none who call themselves civilised,
no system of thought or belief,
to ascertain that mercy and compassion
what it means to be human, humane
would never be infringed.
For that was the horror of it,
that was the most ultimate of shocks:
that even the most ordinary human,
so civilised, so educated, so loyal,
 could be, given the right circumstance,
someone unquestionably monstrous.
© 2014 threegoodwords
three good words 