Funeral Pyres

A first draft, playing around a little with form and assonance.

A litre of courage, a hectare of derelict land:
A little boy folded inside the skin of a man
The dog-eared days of April are nibbling
Away at ancient and noble foundations beneath rubble and damp.

A platter of excuses, a banquet of lies
Black boots on concrete, fatigue chews and bites
At the flesh of my hungry, world-weary calves
The dribbles of redemption, trickle down this chin of mine.

A gram of phosporous, an ounce of strength
And petroleum's rebellious stench,
A shopping list of innocent faces
Dead somewhere between the charred Our Father,
And the oxidised
Amen.