Our Secret Place - Poem by Phil Charters
Friendship, kindled, in the flickering
flames, fires glowing,
pretense, pretending, all, for the knowing;
in beauty’s sight, in our secret place,
from eyes falls beauty, with ne’er a trace.
For the future conspires, comes back from
Ignorance, ignorant, do loggers, log,
entranced by the word, the order clear fell,
lost to the world, the forests smell.
And cockatoos, fly in, they squawk, on
confusion, confused. Where are the trees?
Tired of wing, there’s nowhere to rest,
a lost generation, there’s nowhere to nest.
The possum, who leapt amongst the trees,
bedazed he roams;
in dwellings, dwelt, fit for human homes,
and the fox of beauty, so full of dare,
buried by ‘dozers, within his lair.
Now the lyre bird, mimics, so true, the
losing, lost, the saddest of song.
Mimicry, perfect, the sound of the saw,
lost is the world, to him and to all.
Ignorant bird, take now to wing, fly, fly aways;
beauty, beautiful, from mine eyes, it strays,
sadness welling, within my chest,
and spilling its tears upon my breast.
Oh, to friendship, forged by the flickering
flame, warming fire;
hoping; hope, thus to inspire;
dreams not dreamt, by the sawing chain,
alone I am left now to my pain.
But friends, share memories, shalt our dreams survive;
ever, wherever, the fire is alive;
cannot, shall not, the chain saw erase,
the moments we shared, in our secret place.
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