I come from my country Where Thursday frost sparkles Beneath my feet Some wear their national identity Like a cloak, but mine Is more like a well-worn cardigan Comfortable and familiar Somewhere in the bottom of my closet I wear it for old time’s sake But most of the time it is just there In…
Absence weighs heavily on a wife with three children in tow but even that is better than life with a drunken bully
A drover lives in isolation Dreams of a lady’s hand Until he reaches the city And finds that his boots Are a little too dusty
good men brave and true do not fear the leap into danger it is for women and children to sit home and quiver until the good men do not return
Sunlight falls on a face in the crowd in an eternal dance of fleshly pleasure; heavy is the sadness of the world.
Spontaneous fun away from the pressures of life rather than hanging lifeless with fear at the newsfeed on my phone while toast burns and the kettle boils like a gargoyle I am no brave hunter heading into the night the fireside provides comfort, but fears
Fear is the weapon against laughter, freedom, liberty is too freely used for being, just to be; hope runs scarlet in the streets, grief sirens down below power is existence but there is no surrender.