The sky; choking in smog,
Seeks its former freedom.

The dam denies the river,
Still and lifeless, lacking flow.

The forest; cut and culled,
banished far at man's designing

The fire sits fragile in its grate,
Stays domesticated; docile.

The Earth; anger raising,
At the subjugation of its sons.

We people walk through life,
ignorant to our offences.

Ours minds; seized still,
Synapses froze and never firing.

My soul knowing the outcome,
Asks deliverance from its fate.

It is just a memory,
like a small swell
of water from a spring,

Or the green
water pump
pumping
water
into
my light green
plant watering
plastic thing
whose name
I can’t recall.

Or the wooden bench
also painted green,
chips slowly
falling
down onto
the green grass
below.

Or the soft brown
mound of ground
I found
as I ran my
bare feet
swiftly
across the wet dirt
letting little blades
of moist grass
tickle my soles.

Or the brown
trees that let me
lumber up
clumsily
like a loopy ninja.

Like the sea shore
the water recedes before
the swell of memories
overwhelm me.

Taking me beside a becalmed sea on an afternoon estate,
but I wait for the atoms to smash and the storms to arrive,
I
survive only in a half forgotten melody that mother used to sing to me.

And yet these cartwheels I turn,
turn me about to race the wind.

Time travels slowly between the lines on my face
and I age silently
with,
I hope,
some grace,

given that charity exists
some will take pity and
others will go by,
it's a lottery as to who
and when and if I'm here
again tomorrow,
I survived.

I tire of gnawing away
and.
not knowing

Yet to be confirmed
continued on the next
page,
I stopped reading the
' extra '
and settled for the regular,

less stress.

In the Morning.

I thought they were tears in her eyes
but
it was candle wax in mine

the light is an imp.

Watching as more breakers lower the bar
the tide's coming in
I feel like going,
but I gnaw away
not knowing.