The Death of an Icon

yellowled24
yellowled24 Posts: 3,118
edited August 2008 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
A breath of cool breeze ruffles my hair
as I stare into the distance,
I feel empty
and such dispair

My home has been closed
like a trapdoor spiders flap
tight against the elements
no-one can penetrate

The souls of my home
are floating in the clouds
I hear their voices
and I smell their farts

So, as I leave my domain
to venture into the unknown
I pray you will mourn with me
for I still call Australia HOME.....
"....and was very surprised to see that he didnt actually have a recipe for anus-ankle soup." - Big Ed

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