Garth Horsfield

My brother sits on mother’s shelf
In sombre hues of grey
Like flower plucked and soon to fade
But captured for a day

The wringing hands and ceaseless tears
One week stretched out for man…

The fiery skies are black tonight
as boiling smoke blocks out the light
Monstrous machine of industry
it’s always hungry
The deaf and blind with dreams unknown
with silent cries are carted…