Is This So? This Is So!

A Thousand Dimension
 

Part I




Each Age assumes superiority.
Former things have passed away.
Inhumanity is no longer currency.


But is this so?
 


Peers and elders point
 to two world wars

The rule’s exception
 …
that inhumanity
 could descend no further. 


But is this so?
 


Alas, even scant review

of Ages’ History,

Each civilisation, 

New.

The curious interest

of prodders and archaeologists, 

grave diggers,
bounty hunters,
reveals a far more worrying trend,
stark in its simplicity,
frightening in its

clockwork accuracy
!

This is so!

What?

This!

The pendulum swing
since time began,
Counts Less Than Half a Century!

Seeing wars, insurrections

powerful civilisations defeated,
wiped clean the surface of the earth,
leaving only detritus

to gradually work back 

to the surface of millennia,
and then the process repeated

with metronomic accuracy.

With Metronomic Accuracy!

Greeks marvel at Mycenae

vanished a thousand years afore,

Mycenae marvel at Babylon
a thousand years beyond,

Back, back inexorably back

to Nineveh,
to the Dawn of Time.


Silly myths

morphing into splendid mythology,
Mythology morphing into actuality;

Actuality into Religion,
Religion into religious fervour,
religious fervour into extremism,
Extremism into unimagined Cruelty
laced with War and Insurrection
,
More Unimagined Cruelty
Cocktailed off with Insurrection,
Rebellion,
Itself, then bludgeoned with yet More War!

Inhumanity

the metronome,
hand in glove
with the relentless
cycle of time.

Politicians fight over Trident.
Sillier politicians - a green hue
casts their benighted faces

say ‘no armed forces at all!’
 



‘Reason will hold the day’ they scream!
’Oh isis!
Because we have no army,

We have no missiles,

We have no air force,
We have no navy,

We wish you peace!
And to live side by side with you

protecting our planet.’


‘Oh, fuck off, you mindless idiots!

You think we have your stupid ideology?

You think we respect your undefended boundaries?
 


‘No! What’s yours is ours.

We’re not sharing it.

Now shut the fuck up.

Kneel down…’



…that green hue

now pallid, white, pale, shitting

runs headlong into oblivion,

as blades cut through neck

and bone,
ashen, doomed.

A black ominous cloth

on a pole masquerades 
as civilisation’s
‘new’ standard

the only mark
 …



The Spirit … ponders



Will they EVER learn?



 
 Part II



In the darkest hours of the night,
In the deepest recesses of the 

world’s capitals,

heads of state quietly confer,

then their planning staffs,

by the breaking of fast,
in one continent

as in another 

the main meal encounters,

with sun rising,
with sun setting,

simultaneously,

perfectly,
the metronomic pendulum...


Decrees are signed,
Joint statements agreed,
Ambassadors ‘Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary 

to the Court of St James’


Washington,
Kyiv,
Berlin,
Paris,
Rome,
Ottawa,
Tokyo
 …
Even Moscow … long since the world’s new pariah

back-door channels quietly, ever so, ever so quietly
beckon …

Beijing drags itself in Silk Road splendour
to the chopping board.

Nations’ deliberations

Quietly, in air-conditioned, 

windowless rooms,
banks of screens 

play back world events

in real time;
chiefs of staff direct,

lines international kept open
 … 


One thing is certain!


Differences are many
,
but when an enemy 

so abhorrent threatens all,

the very fabric of life itself,

every species ...
 …
Then ancient and modern

stand united in their determination

to survive.

To survive and remove this cancer

with precision,
with accuracy,
with ruthlessness.


A controlled explosion

unanimity in agreement
lethal as the cutting-edge blade
beloved by the jihadi.

Not for him seventy vestals
Permanent awareness,
Consciousness,
An inability to communicate
The price that accompanies Oblivion.



 
 Part III



In the hotbed of 

religious iniquity

despots relish
power, lust, wickedness;
their deluded minds seeing

believing they perceive ‘righteousness’
 
…


The transmission concurs

the Nations of the world

for once, united
 …



Twenty prisoners

forced to their knees

held roughly, hair torn,

hands tied behind backs

necks bared,

the stadium’s reluctant

bootlegged witnesses,
all ages,

summonsed at dawn,

on pain of death to refuse,

as in an ancient amphitheatre

of former civilisations.



Uncouth guards

sure in their ‘righteousness
‘
but cowardly bedecked in black

only filthy eyes looking outward,
eyes that long ago ceased to shine,
eyes that witness to the absence of the soul,
eyes that testify to the Spirit’s decision to abandon …
a blackness

reflecting the blackness

of their vile hearts
 and equally blackened tongues. 


The so-called caliph shouts out his horrid voice
a thousand discordant obscenities …

the executions must time perfectly

with the sun’s rise

in four minutes time...


Blades are sharpened

wiped afresh against lusting thighs

heads are grasped

Cams roll for propaganda

and to terrorize the world

as their forbears loved to do...

that same evil
that personified

the NAZIs
Pol Pot
The King Fields



Part IV


In another place

another ominous countdown
maintains its metronomic rhythm.
A single Silo slides open

in a barren landscape.
 


In four minutes,

destination reached
,
The loss of many in an instant
,
a terrible price exacted,

but necessary in

cauterising the wound
to rescue humankind



 
 Part V




And in an instant

the world serves notice
on a suddenly frightened

babbling jihadist
,
bereft, defeated,

shitting his pants on the spot...



Oblivion
! 



The quiet metronome


. One .. Two … Three …. Four ….. Five …… Six ……. Seven …….. Eight

minutes later
 …

Every Nation 

Looks on speechless,

Calm even,
Reeling from that distant echo

of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

The Pendulum pauses
on its upward turn,

Then returns
from whence, it came.




………. Ten ……………….. Twenty ………………………… Thirty ……….……….……….………. Forty ……….……….……….……….………. Fifty

years later …


The Pendulum pauses
on its upward turn,

Then returns
from whence, it came.






31 January 2024
All Rights Reserved


LIVERPOOL

© 2024 Kenneth Thomas Webb

First Written 19 June 2015

Re-run 24 November 2022

Digital Artwork by KTW 2024

Ken Webb is a writer and proofreader. His website, kennwebb.com, showcases his work as a writer, blogger and podcaster, resting on his successive careers as a police officer, progressing to a junior lawyer in succession and trusts as a Fellow of the Institute of Legal Executives, a retired officer with the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve, and latterly, for three years, the owner and editor of two lifestyle magazines in Liverpool.

He also just handed over a successful two year chairmanship in Gloucestershire with Cheltenham Regency Probus.

Pandemic aside, he spends his time equally between his city, Liverpool, and the county of his birth, Gloucestershire.

In this fast-paced present age, proof-reading is essential. And this skill also occasionally leads to copy-editing writers’ manuscripts for submission to publishers and also student and post graduate dissertations.