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16 August 2011


Sometimes there isn't paint enough...

by Innerdialect

Red Tree by Rayla NoelSometimes there isn't paint enough,
to etch the sins of man's waste fields,
the invisible and visible graveyards, my brother,
sung and unsung villians and heroes.
Sometimes, and more often like today,
my words smear with images of the crime we share, you and I,
and I am startled with Life.
Look at us, so different, and yet we bleed the same things,
the lust for power, greed for the last word,
the laughter and the grime.

There are no different colours to blood;
not enough rooms for the misunderstood,
Or the way we really all live inside.
Am struggling for the right words - but,
this comes through, like red burnished leaves on growing wood,
sometimes we sing, or paint, or just be still,
with or without the ways of ink,
Sometimes we laugh, sometimes we cry,
geography and borders understood; we are still human,
within the chaos of irresponsibility. I cannot war your words,
cannot erase our sins of neglience,
Too much silence, often is,
the vilest crime.

~ Art and Poetry by Rayla Noel

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