C.V.11. Poem by GRANT FRASER

.0becalP.

Is this real or not,
the voice, word and, page?

A figure swaggering around,
in a blur of watery light,

Where are your beliefs,
do they have self etched
onto them?

'You must be dreaming...'
Must..

The sky might not collapse,
but man's empty trophies fall
like heavy faced statues
all about you,

They have to win at all costs!
especially Yours,

Trust only reaches us for
another millisecond,
then
runs away...

I haven't the right kind of blood -
for faith!

Give me trees,
skies that do not part,
universes without implosions,

Our inner compass -
got snatched, you see,
and life is so much harder to bear,

Their words:

"We have already decided for you,
we'll tell you when it's all going to end,
ye hear? ",

(Perhaps only the affected shall become
infected,
and hasten to free themselves from
this oblivion)