When Poetry Becomes Propaganda

when poetry becomes propaganda
by the time that has taken root all over the world
I would have finished you would have finished

they would have finished their waxen wings
and flown into the sun
rather than to hear one more lie disguised

in your phoenix fleece and weeping

ah poetry fallen archangel, wounded bird
in the mire of gold I found you and I
cared and lifted you above

and remembered your former skies
your cathedral heights soaring into God
the one they no longer name.

am I unwise even to write this here
that I remember when you were

clear sapphire through and through
and I could see the skies
the tops of trees fomenting only green.

why have they taken your name and
rammed it into a  perverse flag and turned you into
a nagging day in and out

and beauty has fled into the wilderness without you
where there are no more flowers.

mary angela douglas 23 september 2017