I see a shooting star, traverse the full-moon.
Like a jungle bushfire, raging out of sight.
I feel the heat of midday, smoothering the night.
Like a warm body, inside her tomb.
I see the dawn, without the golden sun.
Like a Lyrebird, singing all out of tune.
I hear the morning rain, without a cloud in the sky.
Like yesterdays floods, leaving her high and dry.
I see a sandy beach, awash by a tidal wave.
Like a burning desert, water is her grave.
I fill lonely sheets, with empty dreams.
Like a dark chasms’ irrelevant beams.
I see a summer leaf, wilted by a frosty Autumn.
Like an unwatered orchid, opening to an old anthem.
I feel like a splintered heart, inside a single atom.
Like a snakes dead skin, her rejected emblem.
Ivor Steven.
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 