Sunday Poem: “Sepulchral”

 

West of madness

And East of Justice.

 

In the traditional territories of our ancestors,

A performative ritual calls the Spirits.

 

Meant to reconcile the past to the future.

Gravely void of righteousness.

 

Empty words for most,

Breath of life for the Ottawa functionary.

 

The record will show,

We let the dead bury the dead.

 

By W.N. Branson

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