For all the ordinary men and women, Ukrainian and Russian, who stand upon the edge of disaster, as the wheels of diplomacy spin uselessly and gigantic aeroplanes, their holds stuffed with weapons, criss-cross the skies above them, oblivious to their shattered hopes and dreams.
Take my hand, beloved. Come.
The day is almost done.
Be at my side, behold the sight,
Of evening on the land.
Our life, my love’s, been hard
And heavy is my heart.
How should I live, if you should leave,
And we should be apart?
Let’s hold each other tight.
Upon the edge of night.
As shadows fall, and nightmares crawl,
The sun slinks out of sight.
The world hangs by a thread.
And all the heroes fled.
Like weathered stone, we stand alone,
And watch the east in dread.
Be with me in the storm.
When angry gods are born.
When flesh is rent, and love is spent,
And bloody is the dawn.
Take my hand, beloved. Come.
The day is almost done.
Be at my side, behold the sight,
Of evening on the land.
Chris Trotter
The day is almost done.
Be at my side, behold the sight,
Of evening on the land.
Our life, my love’s, been hard
And heavy is my heart.
How should I live, if you should leave,
And we should be apart?
Let’s hold each other tight.
Upon the edge of night.
As shadows fall, and nightmares crawl,
The sun slinks out of sight.
The world hangs by a thread.
And all the heroes fled.
Like weathered stone, we stand alone,
And watch the east in dread.
Be with me in the storm.
When angry gods are born.
When flesh is rent, and love is spent,
And bloody is the dawn.
Take my hand, beloved. Come.
The day is almost done.
Be at my side, behold the sight,
Of evening on the land.
Chris Trotter
This poem was originally posted on The Daily Blog of Friday, 25 February 2022.
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