5th November This was written on the 6th November 2008 You were waiting, watching, silently, I awoke, to November the 5th, A celebration for many of a time they tried to over throw a king, Annually a burning of effigies of men who tried, to over through, a regime. As we look to those across the pond, of a past America, who did the same to daughters and sons of the transported. Who could forget those images, of that strange fruit. This morning we awoke to a change, something the world can celebrate, This morning, for your campaigning, Obama became the Great? Africa Your Africa is different to mine In mine people are chopped up With bones piled high, shining human ivory, At the heart, darkness. Your Africa is home Winter You rush past me with little dog tickling at your heels Too grown up now For warnings against elements and clothing I study you through the frost that splinters across the pane Like some soundless Glass symphony. The out buildings you weave through Transform into the stalls of an ancient crumbling amphitheater Which greedily relishes your intrusion Anticipating the silence ascending Breathing, resurrecting life for its next overture The crimson of your shirt bleeds into the pristine fresh snowfall Reverting time to the bonds first born at conception That links life to an inception before eternity Forgotten until many winters have perished before us I can barely see you now through the cool opaque misted screen I shatter like star dust as you cry I can't see you anymore You're just a shadow Summer The monochrome water colour sky Reflects the waters of the tears of time. Blood diluted But only the blood shared by our veins Despair spilled overtime Broken. The complicit silent bonds disintegrated I didn’t see this coming. Ironing ironic as a thoughtful moment Brought an awareness Warmed by the weak summer sun Piercing the crying sky. Wings dry soaring to join the flock With each beat free.
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