The sun stands silent watch over my necropolis of dreams.
This could be a great way to get rid of pocket lint or that old wad of chewing gum that's been there since your kid brother "borrowed" your jeans last year. Dirt? Zap! Gone. Laundry industry collapses overnight.
Will your creation remain alive in your world, growing in understanding as they experience new ideas? Or are they as stone, with fixed mind and demeanour? What of the antagonist, that person who would oppose your will? Upon which disfavoured relative will you base that undelightful character?
Written just before our 2019 general election, this poem mercilessly rips off an original that I have always loved. The references won't mean much to non-Australians unfortunately, but it is what it is.
Lies grow like weeds, with falsehood's seed spreading on gale force winds born of righteous indignation and mischievous desire.
They assured us that everything would be fine, as long as we kept buying what they were selling. They couldn't have been more wrong.
Old men, steeped in blood. It doesn't touch them but they are drowning in it.
I like fairness and equality. Each generation knows their level of technology and with a will to learn can figure out that of their ancestors and progeny.