This imaginary choice between
Whispers and brutality, a voice
Only heard in the darkness, unseen
Remarks on a fork in the road, green
Onions grow wild. Silver Ghost Rolls-Royce
Arrives on Easter, 1916
Drunken, vainglorious, dreamt a lout
Silent, nowhere near the front, far too green
Dilettante, delights in nudes, mean
Income, inheritance, without doubt
Vested interest, untouched principal
Earnings from the Casement arms deals
Roger remains clueless of his betrayal
Gentlemen of high treason forestall
Execution while two fags smoked congeals
Dried blood but hanging punctuates soil
Interred for decades, his remains
Necessitated closure, coil
Ashen dreams shuffled off, his toil
Yolk-stained face, human rights, such pains
Evoke an age of bigotry, pride
Left post-war generations to rise
Livid and bruised from abuse, lives tried
Outside the courts, opinions deep-fried
Want for justice to no one's surprise
Whispers and brutality, that voice
Object of pure curiosity
Orders each subject without a clear choice
Decisive as two paths, rejoice
As mercy ends war's atrocity
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