Tuesday, 11 January 2011


Land of unspoken hurt,
Carrier of broken, discordant dreams,
What sorrows lie beneath your veiled shadows?
What tyranny is evoked in your proximity?
The day after and the day before,
Where time runs by a different clock,
And hope dances darkly with despair,
A moving slow waltz to and fro,
With glazed eyes staring pointedly ahead,

You barren land of unspent potential,
Broken bastion of revelry and concern in equal measure,
Who gave you this place of power over eternity?
Do you know the potency in your grasp?
Night becomes day becomes night,
Dull grey mourning, hopelessly pained afternoon,
Anticipatory fear at all that may happen,
Hushed voices and raised swords,
Or simply nothing, deathly quiet,

Pock-marked unease,
No foot-sure place to stand,
Will the brightness of this world arise again?
Can the light break through seemingly impenetrable darkness?
Gathering together dreams with friends and neighbours,
Tall tales shyly spoken in a whisper,
Hands gripped tight for all the will and want,
In the great slumber of one is found the heavy restlessness of another,
Prepare to awake O sleeper, for your day is nearly at hand.

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