Autumn

Because it is...

poem 4: Autumn, 6th April 2003, Ashfield, Sydney. (Age 20)

Autumn smells cold
I’ve been here before,
Time makes me old
We’re full of war.
How can anyone
Justify the fight?
How can this be won
When no-one is right?
Images of the dead
Blended with pancakes
Fill the depths of my head
Dark, like the oil lakes.
I feel shame
To be alive today,
We’re repeating the same
Scenes of the play.
We are at
The end of the line,
We’ve all grown fat
On lies and wine.
If life is progressing,
Then I will sit still
And wait on a blessing
Or just cry while they kill.
Then the leaves fall
As the cold winds blow,
And the trees all start small
But somehow they grow.