Another side to our reality….
They complain like thunder at all the drops of rain…
Travel the vast stretch of land we call our home.
Leave the green sliver of coastal colonialism.
Recognise this land is great, vast, and wise.
It’s true people know how to survive here. We grow smarter for our adventure.
To see the expanse by land, to travel each kilometer is to know each kilometer, thousand upon thousand in the red sand, the scattered boulders, the sharp grass and the dwindling influence of the oppressor, moreso becoming the expat, exploit and neglect the harshness of truth.
We grow wise when we persevere.
We can see deserts bloom and wild fires consume.
Cave, tunnel, mine, uranium mine. It’s not okay to disregard that which we can not stand to see.
There is more beauty in this nothingness than in the concrete civility of the cruel, cruel city.
How hardened becomes a heart that is rendered from dusk till dawn in the detritus of man’s broken dreams.
When the only god worshipped is currency, and decency is not virture but weakness.
When kindness is a shock and levered as a weakness.
The propaganda is cracking apart.
The people are dividing along lines of truth and denial, cognitive dissonance, and reality.
We flirt with oblivion because those who choke the power from us would rather kill us all than relinquish their position.
The lies are growing between us. Their roots can break any concrete ideas you may have.
Culture and language, indifference, respect, love, hope, freedom, truth, fate…
Cannot pass thru walls. These ghosts are all too real. Cannot block them out. They wail from inside the walls.
Time wanders the halls of consciousness. Heels clacking down the corridors in the mind.
Finger drum the leather lounge. A voice says you’re lucky to have a leather lounge. Another voice is crying boredom at the TV.
Who is this. What is this…
This this this.
What are we become?
Mind bottled by all these thoughts,
the crying – do this, do that, not this, not that.
Life is constant in its mewing. When did we become so soft to the yearning call of life.
Andrew Spencer (Raow Meow)
Raised Ink Press (c) 2025
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