I don't know, it just came out; I had to say it, had to freely express myself in these days of redaction and rising tyranny against expression.

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Far flung from the Old World to the Oldest, they went

from shipmates to mateship in one generation,

small poppy mighty whities to Aborigines sent

by mad King George on ships to Botany Bay, then

ravished and ravaged their way to convict heaven,

trustees let loose upon the land marked their ascent.

O my god, there's nothing like self-veneration,

elders scratched heads from the boomerang element

and skedaddled to Uluru with their Dream Time

canvas rolled up and safely stowed in a roo's pouch;

but then the culls began, the Dream was found, a new crime

was had: dabbling in ancient Ind'gen art fakes -- ouch!

I've had golden dreams stolen, so I can relate

to the black feeling that comes from a stolen fate.

Authors Website: https://tantricdispositionmatrix.substack.com/

Authors Bio:

John Kendall Hawkins is an American ex-pat freelance journalist and poet currently residing in Oceania.