the poem
the fabulous deep blue ravines where colours of the creator
and his brush vent life then become feint
they stream
and they meld into a giant watercolour of a steaming ocean
and all its rivulets
as if the warmth of life itself submerges in cold in darkness
then disappears as a fraught vessel sinks and all the souls of the refugee supplicants aboard gasp
they fear their last breath has no value and will be their last
they fall on old deaf dark ears those hard moments and their judges turn their face agin the light
no history records their oxygen of hope in the gathering blackness
Flynnpoetry 