PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I am! Yet what I am, who comprehends?

     My lifelines falter like a fading star.

I am the vessel where my torment ends,

     Vestibular vertigo, near and far.

The dizzying world whose balance I have lost—

And yet I am—I live—though I am tossed

Into the tempest of dismissive eyes,

     Into the churning sea of disbelief,

Where decades of authenticated cries

     Find no harbour, no shore, no relief.

And all that's dear grows distant in the mist,

My Millie gone, my comfort ceased to exist.

I walk on fractured paths none understand,

     Each step a trial through fibrous burning flame.

Authorities observe with folded hands,

     Their coffers full, while I bear all the blame.

I labour through six days of ceaseless strain,

Yet cannot shake the shackles of this pain.

I long for centres where compassion dwells,

     For quiet corners where truth might flourish still;

Instead, I find but empty, hollow shells

     Of systems built to break, not heal or fill.

The medical reports pile high, unread,

While hunger gnaws beneath each sunset red.

If those who govern, those who claim to care

     Choose wilful blindness as they watch me fall,

Why not complete what suffering laid bare?

     A kinder end than no response at all.

The noose of neglect tightens day by day—

At least be honest as you turn away.

So let me lie where honesty prevails,

     The earth below; above, Australian skies.

No more false promises or fairy tales,

     Just peace at last when weary spirit flies.

What mercy is there in prolonged decay?

When swift release would end this cruel display