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Literature Text
In Shangra La
by Tricia Pattinson
If I move to Shangra La
Winter in the Sun
Would you join me
In a wicker home?
Let the air flow
And all that wants
Forget the standards
Of a world at war
Ignore the metal phallics
Rockets wanting Moon
Leave alone the concrete
And petroleum's sticky blues
When we're ready - together
We'll migrate on
Find another patch of grassy
Where hard edges do not grow
Literature
I think it's too late to wake up now
I'm on the "right" side
of this nightmare
as my hand idly reaches
toward the edge that separates
where choice is a privilege
or non-existent.
I can rest my head
on dreams that could convert
hard work into opportunity
where I'm hardly spared
a second glance
and the word 'no'
is probably at least 80 percent-based
on merit.
My virgin eyes are still blind
to bullet-ridden walls and shrapnel fodder
where I can walk free, without my eyes
reluctantly trailing behind me, but maybe I should,
and the only blood I've seen
is mine.
I am at the "right" side of this nightmare
not because the people in charge are doing things right
but because I happene
Literature
Give Me A Break Already
I feel like I’m constantly living in a state of being sick with the flu - I am constantly heating up to the pointing of pouring sweat or freezing to the point of fingers and toes being painfully numb from cold. Sleep is a myth to me at this point; between the fever dreams and either excessive sleep or insomnia that leaves me drained, I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have slept well.
My temper boils close to the surface, everything is an annoyance or an upset, because I’m so frustrated with my own body and its attempts to keep me bound to a chair. Nausea is a constant thing, my head hurts and stings from constant headache
Literature
Never Forgotten
You are pushing...
Trying to erase...
But you refuse to wipe away those words that rest gentle on the lines.
You can't do it.
They are written in pen.
You won't rip the well designed paper either.
You will have to paint over those honest words.
You will always know that underneath those vibrant colours lies a hidden script.
A secret code that whispers in your sleep.
You have become a spy.
Undercover, in your own world.
What are you searching for?
Is it your treasure which you have tucked away?
Hopefully you will find that which you have intentionally lost,
And at its appearance,
You will forget the tears you shed,
And once again remember
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