Silence. At last!
Yet I do not want it. 
I need to hear the buzz overhead, 
The often-too-late shouts of warning. 

But, they have stolen my ears. 
Their bombs’ noise invaded my head 
And each time made a cut
On my ear-drums, so the beat
From my heart was blocked
Like the walls they’re building. 

I see the open mouths now: 
They signal to me like alarms. 
I must read their expressions 
Like the books we once had before fire
Took every one of them, 
Pages floating, words disintegrating. 

“Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori…”
I too struggle in a gas of utter wordlessness,
But without a mask to put on, 
Just my emaciated face, 
My empty tent of a head
Prone to every storm and flood, 
Denied its violent music. 

Mike Jenkins is the editor of Red Poets, former editor of Poetry Wales, and a fellow of the Welsh writing Academi. He has published dozens of poetry collections through mostly Welsh presses such as Gwasg Carreg Gwalch, Planet, Seventh Quarry and Seren. His most recent collection is He Sings the Broken Cities (Culture Matters, 2026). He lives in Merthyr Tydfil. 

Poetry submissions to thursdaypoems@gmail.com.