Some musings in blank verse from a disillusioned girl returning to a narrow European island.
So now I walk in this city dead
Still to my footsteps in its grey slumber
The timid sounds of populace
Quiet and real and dull and here.
Unhappy land! Lives under clouds
The rain perpetually falling down
On which the nourished people feed:
Their land, their pocket, ego, greed.
Crowned no longer are these times
Turbulent days they are a' changing
The blind eyes born to every child
Gives them selfish happiness.
Yet where is the world now – what are we
To claim the golden moral ground?
To hunger, thirst and crave for bliss
That can be sold, but cannot sate.
In other worlds o'er land and sea,
Where worlds our morals cannot afford.
Under our dust, these misery-born
Who traded rights for blessed bread.