Death of Art


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.



© Copyright David Marriott  all rights reserved­.