Given the gift of nature, the gift of the past, the place between the silence and the storm
like the black range covering my back
the hate like dirt, it sealed my fate
hands full of movement
covering my face
colour fades
physical compulsions
fists clenched
crashed into my pockets
buried deep are flesh pieces
suffering through his words
hatred like wet mud
drying and setting the path
of unknown moments
that are presented on doorsteps
hollow creatures
moving through the bushland
that covers my back.
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