A Carthusian


This generation is an iron jungle of hate.
A few saber-toothed females freeze
The world. Venal policians lick
Their court shoes and erect iron laws
Pandering for their vote. The insane right
To murder infants a savage insane wrong.
England exterminated in a single year.
Japan in nearly two. Fraternal states
Of pleasure of four. When will the carnage cease?
Where will it lead, this genocide by choise?
The ferocious few age and die. Their teeth
Ripped in pieces billions of infants. The good
Have ceased to be stunned by this out-savage law,
This thriving industry of slaughter. Cry
Vengeance upon this iron jungle of hate.


One thing's for sure: sceptics will not cease
To wait! You sharpen words yet miss the point.
You see trees, leaf and bark: the woods
You do not see, the magnitude of the whole.
Little minds put God to the test; he wins
By not responding. "Believe tu understand."
Believe not and nothing's clear. The sheer
Size of the world provokes amazement but not
In you. Mean-minded you cannot revere.
Sceptics straddle the fence, a sterile herd.
Proud you've cast out fear, that holy awe
That waits humbly, gives time for wonder to speak.
Life's complexities inspire a pause,
A deeper delving for truth, a prayer for light.
Instinctive goodness reveals the creative mind:
"Brood of vipers though you be you give
Not scorpions to your sons." Has God less love?
He who incline to evil? Common sense
Is light but mockers make light of it, prefer
To twist the truth, confound with cleverness.
The lowly who love knock and will be heard.
Mockers create then stifle in the absurd...

For Bo Cavefors

Illustration & Poems Copyright©A Carthusian, GB & Malmö 2005

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