when I was younger,
my idea of pain was so very limited,
it was
a garden of roses
in a world full of thorns

one thousand skinned knees
and
five hundred sprained ankles
could not even begin to compare
to what I felt,
the day you left

my body was broken
my heart no longer belonged in my chest
my mind was dead,
and every single thought of you
ripped
and
burned
and
decomposed
the skin
that I hadn't already gotten to

and these pain killers,
have always worked for
skinned knees
and
sprained ankles

but not today

so I'm raising my dosage
to a few handfuls

hoping this pain will go away

We've become a
civilization of diseases
we build
monuments
statues
institutions
thinking death won't ever find
us here.

Our minds are scrambled
our bodies are damaged
our food is poisoned
our skies are toxic
our vices
are forces of processes
beyond our
control.

When we are not humbled
by nature's power
we inflict our wounds
upon ourselves in
the names of greed
and self protection
and no one knows
what it really means.

Fearful of the silence
we fill our skies with
endless noise
babbling on in endless
monotones, droning
while traffic stalls
at a hot stand still
idling engines
idling souls
depletion of every last glimpse
of the past.
Jam packed
in the stench
I am lost today
in
this vitriol
as anxiety, death and desperation
from every corner
screams my name.

That's why I came
to these woods
where the illusion of
peace remains
as
wild fires burn
just down the lane
as you know
as you say
its always been this way
when bodies hung
at every cross-roads
hunger, power, ignorance
and strength
all ran
the show.

I'm sick with
every disease I
know.

I float upon these tranquil
blue waters
and
we are reminded of the peace we all
really can know.

a storm is brewing
over Bakers Creek
and the sound of the thunder
is less than meek

streaks of lightning
have hit the tall gum trees
and scattered
the small native bush bees

dim grey tones
have replaced the sunlight
the tempest is ensuing
with all its mighty

out of the full clouds
the rain now generously falls
rolling thunder echoes
through the Westerly wind squalls

on the bare hillsides
the dampness soaks in
giving the soil
a good drenching to the skin

the dusty track is laden
with wetness
which leaves a smell
of sweet earthiness

the storm has passed
and quietness descends
it is making its way
across the Clerkness wends

then it shall travel
along the Eastern range pines
until it resounds
over the topaz blue coastline