River Poem by Iain Aplin

we are the shingle'
every now and then were thrown over by rocks, who isnt? .
they are the politics of fear
designed only to over shadow and block our nutrition
are we really in a river.. even yet physically
we dither to the spirits plead.
is it me.. or is it you..
are we as one.. or do we differ too..
its visible to the kid at school, but to the adult its miserable..
the dream of a future usually strikes
well good luck, each man for themselves..
yet he or she still.. chooses life