Walking down the broken path,
I could see the summer gardens blooming.

The gates were locked and I could not enter,
those bright and playful prairies.

My prayers are never answered.
I am left to bear this like Atlas.
A world on my shoulders.

The children of god have an arrogance.
They will lose their keys,
And join me

Where a thousand souls burn.
Beneath the skin.
Screaming.

A place ruled by Julius and Caesar.

GRAHAM MURPHY