0276 Savagery Poem by Michael Shepherd

When did you first meet savagery?
Not merely, the wounded heart,
the Christmas present that they never bought
although they knew you wanted that
and nothing, nothing else..
not merely when you knew
that for the first time, they’d lied to you..
not merely when the world first let you down,

but that savagery that tears at the heart,
when you realise for the first time
that to others – or at best, some others –
you’re just nothing, nothing…

I guess the question is too painful for some; those
born into it; who wake to it within the house;
go to bed with it; are woken by it in the middle of the night;

some meet it at first school,
are schooled in it;
the first thing stolen from you
by those you thought your friends;
suddenly the world’s not flat, and just
keep away from the edge and you’ll be safe, but
spherical, with a horizon all around
beyond which the dragon’s smoky breath
lurks, waiting to devour.

Only three generations or so since
our forefathers met savagery, were savage, fought for land,
musket in one hand, spade in the other;
only four generations since
their fathers were forced off some other land they thought their own;
only two generations since the working class
lived their whole life with savage poverty not far away;

when savagery’s in short supply, there’s always war;
but that’s forewarned; there are no counsellors of battle
for then it’s just too late. We’re all to meet it; learn from it; but who
will dare to put it on the home, the school, agenda?
‘There are those to whom you’re not even
a victim or an enemy; you’re just – nothing..’
Pope called it
the inhumanity of man to man.