The Death of Art
The Death of Art occurred at
Around 3 ‘o clock, the hands raised
Upwards in salute,
Gunfire tribute
Outside the looming walls
No heartbeat found, soon to be wheeled
Into the ground.
Concrete towers rose instead,
Memorials to the dead
Statues capped with gold
The endless idealisation
Of the One, the Nation.
They buried Art inside a paper coffin
Confined to burning libraries,
A pillar of smoke
In the distant past
Onwards marched the Replacements
Smartly-dressed, well-ordered
This is the opposite of everything Art was
This shining new ideal, the people stand
As one (except for those hidden away,
Saved for extermination another day)
As the books melt in conflagration
All for one, all for Nation.