Truth

Gentle streams of gold,
Pierce the waters surface.
So calm, so tranquil.

The mirror of life reflects.
Lost lives, loves and dreams.
Longing kisses of a new life,
Escape to the waters surface.

Lines of foam rush to the mirror’s edge.
Only to die with the pain,
Of an unseeing audience.
Warm rays escape from the net,
The honeycomb glow, cushions their arrival.

Young sing out a chorus, of wind and wings.
Surrounding their dreams,
With the fog of hate and the smell of fear.

Lacking knowledge we kill dreams and rip futures,
No longer do we nestle the young.
Their hearts are open to torture,
Lives lost in a flood of confusion.

The mirror turns red,
The honeycomb too.
Only the pump can change the colour,
Not red to blue but blue to charcoal.

Honeycomb glow,
Turns red with pain.
No longer can it endure the cruelty,
Shown to it by the world.

16th August 1997