The Impaling

by john clare

We came upon a burnt out bush consumed
from flames
Lapped some morning dew from the desert
sand
Bowed to the golden idols set out in the latter
rains
Then laid us down and wept for the promised
land.
It wasn't how they said it would be
This field full of shrews and snakes
No land of flowing milk and honey
A promised land no one wants to take.
Suppose we shall turn back from this plain
Return to the sand from which we
came.
At least they fed us three meals
daily
Who needs promises when hungering so
greatly?
And so the starving ones soon were
gone
With fires bright by the golden calves they did
feast
Yet the inner hunger lingered and groaned
A kingdom within calling
In the land of the beast.