A generation that grew to see,
The battle handed them,
Atrocities the metropoles did,
Submerged in their existence,
Their dreams sold as they were “discovered”,
Self-doubt staining their minds,
Tag: Philosophical
The Things We Do To Fish, Poetry by Paul Tapp
I dreamt I held a tiny whale
In the palm of my big hand
Its vulnerable belly soft and pale
Its life or death at my command.
WILDsound Festival 