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.

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Unhappy land! Lives under clouds

The rain perpetually falling down

On which the nourished people feed:

Their land, their pocket, ego, greed.

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Crowned no longer are these times

Turbulent days they are a' changing

The blind eyes born to every child

Gives them selfish happiness.

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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.

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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.

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