I wrote this sonnet at the height of the IRA's terrorism but . . . .

T h e i r d e a f n e s s.

For half his working life John Milton stood
To wait and serve the Lord in many ways
Though blind. His talent yet to Him gave praise,
As patience, when he doubted, said it should.


And thousands since, o'er land and sea, for good
Have His mild yoke borne gladly all their days,
To build not stone nor fashion other clays,
But love their fellow man as best they could.

Now Darkness spawns a vile and evil breed;
And some profess day-labour in God's name.
With tools of death and Moloch hand in glove
They never heed the hate their actions feed:
Their creed, in blindness, but to kill and maim
And all are deaf to Patience; Reason; Love

Copyright G Peacey