Inspired by a thought (‘magic blood’) from the Change My Mind Substack here.
* Repurposed from Chris’s poem ‘The Phoenix Tree Writes’

I am born of the magic blood
and God made his promises to me;
Envy and hatred are my razors,
the disease of nations lurches towards
a final solution.

I’ll not fight for your freedom
when there’s still history to be written;
Blessed for one thousand years,
one thousand years nearer to
a final solution.

Rough drafts scratched with dead desires;*
my maps are majestic cities in the mud;
The great insignificance, smaller than a secret
must not be told to a reliable witness of
the final solution.