Look

by Peter Simon

The civic order rots to farce.
The papers hum with feral hate.
The spilling bombs from bombers course.
The bestial to the bestial prate

The paralytic common view:
'There is nothing to be done' --
'There is nothing I can do' --
As the victims burn and run.

Ravens flock to city walls
With their cool and Roman gaze
And a darkness that appals
As below we thread the maze

Of the pathways that we took:
Reason fled, ideals betrayed,
Money über alles. Look.
Do not turn your face away.