The Measure Poem by Janet Budd

THE MEASURE

You meander through our midst in many forms.
You drink the pain and anguish of the weak
As if suffering is the sweetest wine
Offered to Gods at a celestial feast.

You wield a vicious scourge, capriciously sting
Hardened hearts and tender souls alike.
Then from the void of grief you hear us sing
Laments that set sleeping stars alight.

You plunder, purge and quell our deep conceit.
Steal riches, restore nought, nothing owed
Smile watching, as from such futile seeds
Grow blood red rubies in white wastes of snow.

You thrust a searing sword, a crooked spear
Sons of women, daughters of men fall
As scattered corpses on earth’s battle field
To pay the debt of hubris for us all.

Your task is aided? “Yes” I hear you say.
“I’m aided by people who seek escape.
Those who hide, push others in their place
Shall ever be astonished by their fate.”

Fragile love can’t ever ward you off.
Passion can never you command.
The brightest smile, the loudest, longest laugh
Cannot deflect nor deter your hand.

I imagine you in black and purple hues.
I see you as bright passages of light
I honour your claim to collect your dues
You are the currency by which I measure life.