The Bridge

On the Westminster Bridge Massacre, 22 March 2017
By Joseph Charles MacKenzie

When Wordsworth stood upon that bridge most fair,
And wondered if some gloomy passer-by
Could be so dim that London’s majesty
Would never touch his dullness, unaware,

The poet prophesied the world’s despair
That here beneath a once and future sky,
In Moloch’s name the innocent would die
Their cries to fill the crisp and smokeless air;

That there would be no Christian left to weep
The dead whose countrymen with tears befill
The waters of the gently flowing deep.

Sad London, void of intellect and will,
That harbors in a communistic sleep
A godless mayor who relishes the kill!

By |2018-07-07T04:04:00+00:00July 5th, 2018|Categories: Poem|Tags: , , , , , , , , |0 Comments

About the Author:

Joseph Charles MacKenzie is a traditional lyric poet, a "sonetero" from New Mexico where his family has been for over 400 years. He is First Place winner of the Scottish International Poetry Competition (Long Poem Section) and a Pushcart Prize nominee. His verses have appeared in The New York Times, The Scotsman (Edinburgh), The Independent (London), US News and World Report, Google News, and many other outlets. He writes exclusively for Trinacria (New York) and the Society of Classical Poets (New York).

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