Plough on, plough through, plough –
By this hand and shovel and will
I will turn this rock and sand ridden desert of mind
Into a rich garden, full of plumes and phrases and wit,
All to the purpose of removing the wire.

Imprisonment within our own dreams is such
A tremendous poisonous stupendous deliberate entrapment.
Nations bleeding and voting and participating
Merely by listening or rejecting or hurling abuse at
Race taste caste and letting little or nothing
Persuade us that we may just be wrong.
We are all wrong.

Let our dreams breed new species,
Let our minds depart from their weary confines
To seek out new blood to mix with.
If our lands run dry should not our riches
Be greater in dreaming of new collective heavens;
And may they not be perfect heavens
As our beliefs are not better off for their charity status –
Let the pain and suffering of this life
Be a compass to recognising the sufferings of all,
Not of ourselves;
For when we dream of being whose being are we dreaming of?
Ours, or our own?

I cannot fight for time beyond my own –
My time is mine, but it is shared time.
So have my dreams and do with them what you may.
Eat, drink, rape or kill them as you see fit –
Better they be killed than go unnoticed or unrealised.