Homework 1st March
Posted: Tue Feb 23, 2016 7:54 pm
Homework 1st March:
Lost
I came seeking bright lights of the city—disillusionment swiftly set in,
and the hole in my pocket grew larger when I turned to the uppers and gin.
Now I’m first in line down at the shelter (though I’m making a bit on my back),
through the day feel depressed so get wasted, and at night live in fear of attack.
On the walls there are faded red flowers in this dive that’s infested by fleas,
and they mock as insipid reminders of indigenous flowers and trees.
I’m so weary of ugly grey buildings that ascend to polluted, dull skies—
feel contempt in my spirit for punters with the lust in their devious eyes.
Now I’m longing for wide open spaces, those spectacular stars in the night,
the cacophonous screech of rosellas and the white cockatoos taking flight—
where the eagle soars proud and majestic, mighty roos pound the ochre terrain,
and a silence of infinite grandeur in the darkness continues to reign.
I am lost, I am broken with sorrow, feeling empty and hopeless inside,
and regret is my only companion now that foolish illusions have died.
Though I grievously, thoughtlessly hurt you when I left your sweet love far behind,
one last thing I would beg you consider, for I know you’re inherently kind…
At the end of my days please return me to that place where I truly belong—
where the scent of the eucalypt thrills me and the butcher bird stirs with his song.
Will you bury me out on the station, where the tussock blows random and free
and the sunsets ignite in the heavens in a way that this town cannot see?
Bring me blooms of a scarlet persuasion—native species arranged in a jar;
be assured of my deepest repentance over selfishly drifting so far;
please forgive me that reckless decision, my misguided intention to roam—
but don’t bother to carve an inscription—not unless it is just, ‘She Is Home’.
Lost
I came seeking bright lights of the city—disillusionment swiftly set in,
and the hole in my pocket grew larger when I turned to the uppers and gin.
Now I’m first in line down at the shelter (though I’m making a bit on my back),
through the day feel depressed so get wasted, and at night live in fear of attack.
On the walls there are faded red flowers in this dive that’s infested by fleas,
and they mock as insipid reminders of indigenous flowers and trees.
I’m so weary of ugly grey buildings that ascend to polluted, dull skies—
feel contempt in my spirit for punters with the lust in their devious eyes.
Now I’m longing for wide open spaces, those spectacular stars in the night,
the cacophonous screech of rosellas and the white cockatoos taking flight—
where the eagle soars proud and majestic, mighty roos pound the ochre terrain,
and a silence of infinite grandeur in the darkness continues to reign.
I am lost, I am broken with sorrow, feeling empty and hopeless inside,
and regret is my only companion now that foolish illusions have died.
Though I grievously, thoughtlessly hurt you when I left your sweet love far behind,
one last thing I would beg you consider, for I know you’re inherently kind…
At the end of my days please return me to that place where I truly belong—
where the scent of the eucalypt thrills me and the butcher bird stirs with his song.
Will you bury me out on the station, where the tussock blows random and free
and the sunsets ignite in the heavens in a way that this town cannot see?
Bring me blooms of a scarlet persuasion—native species arranged in a jar;
be assured of my deepest repentance over selfishly drifting so far;
please forgive me that reckless decision, my misguided intention to roam—
but don’t bother to carve an inscription—not unless it is just, ‘She Is Home’.
