Bora born
Dreamscape _
Friends apart, the group disperses, from
the rocky mound for the cleared grass below.
Others fall back save the girl with courage
who moves forward, to tease with taunts in tow.
Too much pantomined, the old man jibes us
take these pellet guns, they'll give a real treat.
A pickled truth should be their making, "Let's
scare their pants off with shots to the feet."
"Shoot in the ground where they're standing, these guns
look real, they'll take off, run away."
He passes me one, it looks like Dirty
Harries, the youngest big gun has a say.
We three take aim for the ground beneath them
the old man yells out, "Get lost, move your things."
Defiant they stand, "What's that you're holding"
the silly season was about to begin.
My aim moved up to the quiet man behind
her, a pellet near the belly was on.
A chance of a miss in search of a lesson
no one to be hurt for this accidents son.
"Let's do it", he shouts, with true blue passion
all triggers are pulled as if they were one.
We all fly apart recoiled by the madness
of noise filled smoke for this deed we've now done.
The smoke clears, screams are now heard, someone lies
still, on the grass, soaked in blood, near the verge.
His stomach open, the back is broken
it's the young quiet man, the aim was supurb.
Fear grips inside, where will blame be given
it's the old man's fault, he tricked us, he lied.
No pellet guns, his deceit betrayed us
yet the heart of me knows deceits fine line.
Words then come to surround me with passion
to take the blame, she's too young, thoughts laid bare.
An innocent to some with terrible knowledge
such a tragic event, should be seen not heard.
It runs through my mind, in a quicksand of
reason, only I know where I took aim.
I sweat in fear, it hollows my being
emptied of love this raw instinct refines.
The bullet was shattered, no evidence
left, no one will know which gun it came from.
Yet the ache holds on, so deep the echo
belly hollowed thin, as an eggshells doom.
The dreamstate lifts, more lucid with meaning
the message studied with a terrible pain.
Raw feelings felt of lost secrets mentioned
from my youth a shield of guilt overstrained.
Emotions immersed in emptiness so
raw, never before has such come my way.
Then a voice cries out to the false guilt born
madness, "He's got it, he's got it," I say!
This moth drawn dreamers light, burned bright inside
the girl with the gun, Dirty Harry blessed.
Looking through eyes without backlit knowledge
only love dissolves guilt, for hearts distressed.
- O -
© aug 2007 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
the rocky mound for the cleared grass below.
Others fall back save the girl with courage
who moves forward, to tease with taunts in tow.
Too much pantomined, the old man jibes us
take these pellet guns, they'll give a real treat.
A pickled truth should be their making, "Let's
scare their pants off with shots to the feet."
"Shoot in the ground where they're standing, these guns
look real, they'll take off, run away."
He passes me one, it looks like Dirty
Harries, the youngest big gun has a say.
We three take aim for the ground beneath them
the old man yells out, "Get lost, move your things."
Defiant they stand, "What's that you're holding"
the silly season was about to begin.
My aim moved up to the quiet man behind
her, a pellet near the belly was on.
A chance of a miss in search of a lesson
no one to be hurt for this accidents son.
"Let's do it", he shouts, with true blue passion
all triggers are pulled as if they were one.
We all fly apart recoiled by the madness
of noise filled smoke for this deed we've now done.
The smoke clears, screams are now heard, someone lies
still, on the grass, soaked in blood, near the verge.
His stomach open, the back is broken
it's the young quiet man, the aim was supurb.
Fear grips inside, where will blame be given
it's the old man's fault, he tricked us, he lied.
No pellet guns, his deceit betrayed us
yet the heart of me knows deceits fine line.
Words then come to surround me with passion
to take the blame, she's too young, thoughts laid bare.
An innocent to some with terrible knowledge
such a tragic event, should be seen not heard.
It runs through my mind, in a quicksand of
reason, only I know where I took aim.
I sweat in fear, it hollows my being
emptied of love this raw instinct refines.
The bullet was shattered, no evidence
left, no one will know which gun it came from.
Yet the ache holds on, so deep the echo
belly hollowed thin, as an eggshells doom.
The dreamstate lifts, more lucid with meaning
the message studied with a terrible pain.
Raw feelings felt of lost secrets mentioned
from my youth a shield of guilt overstrained.
Emotions immersed in emptiness so
raw, never before has such come my way.
Then a voice cries out to the false guilt born
madness, "He's got it, he's got it," I say!
This moth drawn dreamers light, burned bright inside
the girl with the gun, Dirty Harry blessed.
Looking through eyes without backlit knowledge
only love dissolves guilt, for hearts distressed.
- O -
© aug 2007 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
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Dreamscape _
Dreamscape _