‘Unnatural Injustice’ by Surrey resident, Alexandra Bannatyne
If I could just rope through the last of the summer sun
Between the waving walls of (cool grey) clouds and breezes
Writhing eddies of bespoke power these quivering blasts of air; seething
North-west wind gripping the edges of my upper arms and hands
Until I flee to electric blanket land.
Across the sea and sands to the south men lie grieving
Women and children maimed and murdered
Like clinkered moths and broken butterflies
Not by cold hurricane but the heat of wars battle burst:
Yet I sit like congealed rice pudding(unable to help or save)watching a screen
Filled with fantasies-other peoples ‘last resorts’ to cope with yet others ideas that failed them.
Flowing then halting then cascading again the air lowers the windows warmth
Equally dancing then halted the speeches and grief speed across the fleeting screen as the pre-arranged
Spirit takes hold of the choreography
Not my soul and not my spirit for I was made obsolete in 99
Barred from being healed or healing
By others seeking to control me
Lying for that was the only way they could
Cover up their evil for I was doing good.