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.