On the Death of John Lennon
This world unravels, bit by bit
Each thread that binds
Is torn in rage,
And desolation stalks where wit
And beauty walked
On some lost page.
From light to darkness; life and art
And talent bleeds
At every loss,
Each shallow murder strikes the heart,
The root, the branch,
The Saviour’s Cross.
Now at the height, some furtive thief
Has stolen yet
Another strand,
And left in thrall unyielding grief
To wonder at
This bloodied hand.
10 December 1980
poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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