The religious state.

Into a heart of forsaken debt we are birthed, so says the friends of heaven; and not without pain do we fight for more. With the relentless demands of social stature and unforgiving acceptance, seldom do we achieve anything more than mediocrity.

Ridiculed for vision, our dreams whither into uncertainty. Starved for attention they beckon for more but fall far short of found. Led by insanity we reek of rotting souls in search of normality, that form of torture for which we ache to know; a curse, tradition is so. Yet with respect for such we hold high. Hope will be forgotten once we mature into those required by whom seek conformity. Dreams will be just that, a subconscious request to nurture imagination to reality and flicker will the feeling of thirst as it’s quenched with governmental aid and reactive medicines. Trust will become lost with its foe as we know no more or less than what we’re told.

Whom sort Australia for asylum are lost. (Written as rhythmic Spoken Word)

I’m so happy yet hate my reflection, I have no objection it’s just a method of deflection from “them” being too young to die, to not live even once but half that of I. The kids know stares not stars, dream it’s theirs not ours and even with nightmares told, their lives we’ll still hold in bars. Their trust in the hands of those alien to the plight, to suffer there’s no might but the media will buffer their fight.

“We’ll win!” they scream at me from that hateful box, we’ll keep them detained with locks, and if we must – we’ll ssh them with rocks. I should be happy, because who won but I? You’ve heard the lie, except its the un-broadcast truth that shares my cry. From there to here, their fear is still near but there will be no cheer, welcome seekers of hope, here’s a new reason for tears.