Day Ten: The Trumpets

Cardross College - Former Glasgow Teaching College Outside Glasgow

The Trumpets

Clocks stopped; then white static breathed into a roar,
Night exploded into artificial daylight.
As the air dispersed, the windows turned into sand,
ending in darkness, shadows slung up against walls.
Then an almighty din, like the cleansing of sins
When glass and debris flooded the pavements and streets,
Flocking to seven churches, a thousand men deep.

Buildings split in two – it was the last thing ever seen
By tired eyes, old and new. (If they were awake).
Memories, some physical, were never seen again
Metal and dust and bairns aplenty were soaring, slowly,
Like time lapsed photos living outside of frames,
Or like the trumpets set to call out at the end of days.
The distance they covered, it couldn’t half pass for rain.

And for the first time in over a thousand years,
Silence. Electrical things didn’t move, blink or click.
The TVs broadcast pure static, the radios dead air,
Telecommunications broken, airwaves dead.
For the first time there was no stress, no rush – just stillness.
But nothing came; no help, just dark clouds overhead,
Like the Revelations writ large in a grey sky.

All the phones were dead, the media life support left “on”,
Leaders dumbfounded by a gallus act of war.
‘Infiltration!’ one screamed, promoting response.
‘Divine intervention!’ another said it was.
But the country was smashed, the reaction never came.
Instead they stood looking at the fissures of flame
Gaping into the void where a city once stood.

The white light that bathed a city, scarred a nation,
Scarring the framework of a whole population.
The classes have fallen, now no longer defined
Divisions forgotten North and South of the Clyde.
The clanjamfrie is freed, all clans now expired,
Pride of place in urban society, refined.
Not even Saint Peter can help to deny them.

Help never came in the end, as dust engulfed the rammy,
No one to assist in guiding shadows from walls.
The regular inner city concrete struggle became
A labyrinth of twisted bones, bricks and memory.
Locked in a sigh, the city faded into the darkness,
Harkening back to an uncouth time long since gone
Or perhaps the coming of heaven, long since lost.


2 thoughts on “Day Ten: The Trumpets

  1. Lovely, so visual, haunting. Particularly liked the line: “Like time lapsed photos living outside of frames”

    (Only needed my Scottish dictionary a couple of times.)

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