I.E.D.

('Improvised Explosive Devices, known as IEDs, are the insurgents' deadliest weapon ...' The Times)

In the dark metallic silence my clock ticks
Only the beetles and soft moths stir the dust at my feet
They pause uncertainly, swivel their lunar eyes
Brush with curious antennae the black box
Of my secret

In the packed inner spaces my mind works
Only the wires and tiny switches hear the hum of my labours
They click neatly, pass orders
Measure precisely the last moments
Of my undoing

In the still air my heart bursts
Only the heat and charred walls remain of my lodging
Fragments journey, take routes
Reach blindly the brick and blood
Of their resting place

In this happening I am fulfilled
No thought or feeling mars my perfection
Safe in my purpose I have no morality
Free from the terrible burden
Of my maker

- Charles Evans

"I.E.D" by Charles Evans won the Second Prize in the Diversity House (Excel for Charity) Poetry Competition 2009.