A scar remains,
a reminder of the past.
A scar is what you make of it.


A reminder of misery?
A certificate of achievement.
A scar is what you make of it.


A constant sign of what’s been done.
A battlescar of battles won.
A scar is what you make of it.

Dylis on a table,
tag around her toe.
She tried to make it somewhere.


Dylis on a table,
disease around herself.
She tried to make it somehwere.


Dylis on a table,
She tried to make it somewhere.
AIDS the on to travel,
she has found herself nowhere.


Dylis on a table,
tag around her toe.
She tried to make it somehwere.
Had to let life go.

Dylis stands on corners,
rose lights above her head.


Cars drive slow at turnings,
seeing special offers.
The ones of great disgrace,
but she is there to proffer.


They would skulk away,
into a quiet place,
driver moves her downards.
‘Til he can’t see her face.


He slips a fifty into her palm
She takes it and smiles,
knowing she’ll need not do that,
for a lengthy while.


Her objective is but living,
hence she must keep giving.
Men and women… any creed.
All the seedy pleasures that they think they need.

Moves into third, fourth, fifth,
indicates left, down the sliplane-onto the bypass.
Flash!
A crash course replays.
The tyre bursts, spins out
off the crash barrier and into the 4x4 behind.
Then nothing but a burning wreck,
consumed by hatred filled flames.
Then down the tunnel back to reality…
Up the sliplane. Safe now.
Just a collision thought.

I think we should all semi-colon close brackets or capital D,
we need to make time to just be semi-colon capital P.
Just be happy, maybe even throw in a colon close brackets.
Refrain from creating stress with semi-colon capital S,
on hearing an opposing opinion don't be offended, semi-colon capital O.
Just accept it, let go, there is no need to be so semi-colon forward slash.
Turn that open brackets around, there's no need to frown,
drop that greater-than arrow and take things less seriously.
Seriously there are many things to less-than arrow three in this world,
don't overlook the little things. Appreciate them.
Give them an open brackets capital Y close brackets,
maybe even an asterisk applause asterisk.

Send out the message, keep up that semi-colon capital D.

Red dirt footprints tell this story,
follow them in to battle.
Follow them to their graves
for being brave little soldiers.

It's hard to hear these silent knights cry.
Invisible pawns,
serving a king in a game they are too young to understand.
The only shooting stars they wish upon
are warlords, whose bullets light up the night sky.

How are these boys supposed to become men?
All snakes, no ladders.
Thrown in at the deep end with lions and wolves,
these cubs don't stand a chance.

This is a whole new jungle book,
one with so many birds with clipped wings,
too many saplings cut down before their time,
an army of children letting clips ring.
Deprived of the bare necessities.

Everywhere around me I see it dig it’s filthy teeth
deep. Taking a hold of so many souls, direct or not.
Walking hand in hand with Life, tainting purity
with its dark essence. Life’s incandescence under
hand, hidden in the palm of Death’s minion.
But Death cannot see the path of Life. Stop.
The path does not stop, not for this
soldier; he marches on. Strong. One
step at a time, forward.
Forward he marches, grip
loosening. Hand
rid of evil.
It’s gone,
live on.