Oh, the things we’ll see,
when we see things around us—
if only we saw
Sight
Carefree
Step out and breath in—
one of these days you’ll see it:
cockatoos don’t care.
Old is new
Forgotten relic,
faded gloss gathering dust—
matte finish is born.
Judgement
Looking down at us,
as its habitat’s cut down—
native tree flowers
Anchor
Hold on big fella—
life’s messy, salty, smelly
your mates have your back
The Chaos Within 