a poem by Dale Costello, Australia - poetry writer, author, poet

Gone without a choice
love born to know
truth of real emotion
a childhood rarely spoken
then when it is:
in whispered tones,
it is hard to let go.

Bare responses, savage depression
bent from hell
returning veterans,
childhood an innocent game,
not the merciless feudal roar
politics courting blame
in all except that place
where policy meets the world.

Waiting in this strange lobby
a loneliness secretly undressed
chairs hard
air stale with reasoning,
nothing is true,
all is lost to dispute
until a world stands confessed.

through wreckage we wander
avoiding noise
a question asks of itself
truth is late,
what becomes of the night?
when all is blind and cold,
which demon unleashes itself?
does even sleeping fight?
do we never let go?

Conflicts of human device
as they're born to existence
lifetimes will course
through the missing,
it is not the lies
memories of violence eventually die,
not fear in absence or waste
nor even love forced to hide,
it's the silence
smallest voice withheld
by shadows to our hearts.

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