an unexpected turn of events.

i found this, and it was beautiful.

We Are Going, by Oodgeroo Noonuccal

They came in to the little town
A semi-naked band subdued and silent
All that remained of their tribe.
They came here to the place of their old bora ground
Where now the many white men hurry about like ants.
Notice of the estate agent reads: 'Rubbish May Be Tipped Here'.
Now it half covers the traces of the old bora ring.
'We are as strangers here now, but the white tribe are the strangers.
We belong here, we are of the old ways.
We are the corroboree and the bora ground,
We are the old ceremonies, the laws of the elders.
We are the wonder tales of Dream Time, the tribal legends told.
We are the past, the hunts and the laughing games, the wandering camp fires.
We are the lightening bolt over Gaphembah Hill
Quick and terrible,
And the Thunderer after him, that loud fellow.
We are the quiet daybreak paling the dark lagoon.
We are the shadow-ghosts creeping back as the camp fires burn low.
We are nature and the past, all the old ways
Gone now and scattered.
The scrubs are gone, the hunting and the laughter.
The eagle is gone, the emu and the kangaroo are gone from this place.
The bora ring is gone.
The corroboree is gone.
And we are going.'

these are the best days.

a collection of memories, each only a mere snapshot of the amazing year it has been thus far...

Utterly and completely.

"there at least there is clean seawater. let them drift in it."

my fingers frozen as i type,
ahead, i anticipate a nervous hype,
their faces will judge, their eyes will scheme,
i know i'm paranoid, but that's how it will seem,
and when it's all over, it will fade, like last night's dream.

they're running late today. anxiety builds, and frustration too.
i don't understand how they find it so hard...it's really not.

why do people resent the fog?
sure, it can make seeing what lies ahead,
something of a difficult task,
but isn't it nice sometimes, to live in the moment,
and to not have to know everything before it's here?
i like the fog. it has a certain element of comfort to it.

i unintentionally stole a library book yesterday. does that make me a bibliokleptomaniac?

"and, after a time, they will sink. deeper and deeper."

at times like this

it's a bleak morning,
only a thin layer of frost
to conceal the inevitable disappointments
that are sure to ensue.
but it will suffice for now.
in an ideal world, i'd turn away from it all,
and go to the seaside.
that peaceful haven of calm
that's always there, never failing.
to stand on the damp sand, and just watch,
watch the grey-green surf crashing,
the clockwork tide rocking back and forth,
back and forth, like a soothing lullaby.
consistent, reassurring. in a world that is ruled by change,
it represents the promise of summer, and better days.

"i fell in love on the seaside..."

sheer beauty.

i'm rather attracted to the idea of frost...

Unfair.

she screams herself hoarse,
and then some.
raw emotion boils to the surface,
the calm facade torn to shreds
in one violent, impulse of rage.
she sees red.
the worst part is, she knows she's not wrong,
and yet her actions drive her deeper
and deeper into a pit of consequence,
further and further past the point
of no return.
in this place, between these walls,
she is powerless, she has no voice.
there is no jury, only a biased judge,
and at times, it seems as though
all forces are conspiring to work against her.
one day, someday, she'll break away.
she'll leave behind all that oppressed her,
all that sent her to bed with seething, fuming
thoughts that kept her up at night,
and nightmares she should have had
were evident in the dark that shadowed her face
by the cold light of day.
yes, she'll walk away from it all,
and she will never. look. back.

varying shades of purple.

if i were to distance myself from everything,
stop caring, stop feeling,
retreat inside myself and become a total recluse,
would you care?
would you notice if i was no longer there?
if i were to disappear from the earth tomorrow,
fly away in a hot air balloon,
to some place where it's always dark,
where there is not even a sliver of silvery moon,
would you realise my absensce?
would you fly away after me, and bring me back again?
i sailed away in a little newspaper boat,
i made it from The Age so i thought it would float,
and it did for a while, until the reign came down,
popularity overrode my vessle and it drowned.
i become a floater and floated to an island
where i found that i did not in fact fit in,
so i think i'll fade into the background until i find my niche.