Now That The Bridges Have All Been Burned

As it stands, we know too much

Sweet Innocence is a relic.

Naivety  has become a fond memory.

The ballots are in. It is official.

This is the end of innocents.

This is the end of infatuation.

This is the end of poetry.

The internet is a hand grenade that

has been lobed  into the fragrant

garden of forgetfulness

It has carpet bombed the

pastures of human tenderness

and poisoned  the the lily pond

of the  imagination.

I already see the dead  bloated fish and detritus

floating  down an ever darkening  stream

Day by day I feel my heart grow ever darker

Derek Earl Houghton