In Daylight Realised

What is this blade that hangs over your head
from a thread made of fragile and hopeless dreams
of lost childhood friends and existential dread
of life’s prospects bursting apart at the seams?

What are the words that lull your work-weary mind
on a pillow stuffed full of the system’s green feathers?
What fractal visions in political turmoil entwined
run through your dreams; your futile endeavours?

Is it the cries of brown children with flies in their eyes
or the bloody remains of bombers and bombed?
Do the diviner’s bones fortell the empire’s demise
or justice forthcoming for those who have wronged?

And who hears your cries
in night-terror born, in daylight realised?

And in daylight too the awful truth must fade
To lift our heads above the night’s horror
To venture forth beyond the bed that’s made
To make your move; to head out for tomorrow

July 2006

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