Senior Secondary

again And we swam once more. The next day we all stood there The wind
beating against our faces As we swam, Around that polished marble box Of
his ashes. The world is all water now. We haven't even a boat. We swim for
ever and ever I am exhausted. Hope stands alone in the desert In a place
where there is no water. But noone ever told us where to find it When the
water is all we see. And so we are still looking, We are all still searching For a
sign, For just one glimpse Of dry land.
Judge’s Comment
I like the rhythms and images in this, and the use of the second person narration.
Maia Churchill
Willetton Senior High School
WILLETTON WA
The Untitled
„Modern‟ days.
Nothing but a world of mindless babble from the mouths of (mostly) educated
people about the same ol‟ prejudice subjects, constantly repeated through a
thousand different eyes.
A pitiful world of brainwashed thought and deep-fried opinion that disgusts
me in such a way that if even a single fibre was out of place, I would no
longer be sure nor content with my predicament. As if I too am lost without
the guidance of the overly-worshiped Gods of pointless desire and selfinflicted
humility.
It‟s sickening, yet somehow comforting.
Heart-warming.
Contradictory.
Surreal.
These words I use so often, yet utterly despise as they leave such an unholy
sweetness in my mouth, like a revenge before it rebounds back onto ones self
10-fold.
Yes. Such nicotine hatred.
As easy to sin and not feel any form of repentance as it is to cough out the
smoke of a cigarette. It is such a shame.
A sorrow.
A wasteland.
A desert in the fabrics of time and what we call space, as it flows, twists and
bends like a ribbon in a gale, creating such senses of déjà vu and supposedly
unexplained premonitions that we mock and tease like a child in the school
yard who‟s too metaphorically small to set any sort of trend.
The child who will change this world and be shot for it, while the ex-giants
with their own tainted hands hold the same gun to their heads in their own
impure regret.
Another victim of the morale rainbow whose sight, though so lovely to behold,
is not but another example of man‟s definition of comeliness.
Of man‟s colourful (though highly inaccurate) priorities.
Oh such sadness.
Such desperate, bone-crushing sadness of some old-time, deceptive form that
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