An observation..

Woven with hope and worn with pride her veil shadows a short lived smile. He was hers for a while. She was his since the trial, but life has won and now a measure for her pain there’s no dial.

A heart too free for this tale now her lips set sail and an island of pleasures await. But not until this curse of her first she must break, and to no end there’s risks she shall take, for only her flaws, not her wants she can fake.

Now with waves of relief washing the stains from her grief and inscribing a hope shaped model of her heart, its only she that can drown her past. Revive her once lost love of self and art and swim in the sea like they once did, back when life was bliss, back at the start.

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.