The Last Link Ch.1THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY IS MY FRIEND
'Where is he? He was here a minute ago. All these big people are in my way. Damn it!'
Torahime Hanaten looked everywhere. Such a big boat is a hard place to search. Especially when you're only eight years old and surrounded by so many employees, waiters and waitresses, friends and family, and other adults who are double your size. All sorts of formal suits passed Torahime. The late night heat of the East coast of Australia made her take plenty of rests during her search.
Her father was Fumio Hanaten, a quite well off businessman from Korea. Thanks to his multi-lingual skills he has many friends abroad, including an Australian sailor who looks after the boat that is now on its way to the furthest points of the Coral Reef. Fumio had gone off to fetch him and his daughter a drink. Two hours later Torahime had decided to find him.
Before meeting her father, she had e
Wasted MuseWay up many flights of stairs,
there's a boy with long blonde hair,
playing a game, all alone,
on a console, or on a phone.
Down a floor, a pair of girls.
Having a dream.
Boys, toughies, macho men.
Scanning the sea of full, and empty heads.
Earphones in some, blaring music.
Lights by others, texting a friend.
who pay attention.
I see those,
those prefering prose.
I hate the ignorants who've come.
They should be at school.
I pity the poets who've come.
They should be appreciated.
Their words are sadly unheard by most.
The Bright Red CarOff it goes, the bright red car,
its driver taking it off to shop.
Your alone, no rules,
do whatever you want.
Free as a bird, you play games,
watch TV, generally have fun.
Then it's up to your room,
to get some work done.
Expectantly looking out the window,
Something red! Different car,
You plan your words,
for when it gets back,
to show your impatience.
Here it comes, onto the drive!
You run out, determined, as the driver stands.
Your arms wrap around, as other arms wrap round you.
Window InspirationGreen greens, waving in the wind,
like waves caressing sandy beaches.
The block housing, although dull,
seem to fit in with their vibrant conterpart.
The sky, a sea of fluffy white ships.
I can't help but imagine an anchor,
a bolt of lightning, being lowered onto the sky-bed,
a rain of sailors, diving for treasure.
There stands a signal tower, up on the hill,
poking inquisitively out from the forest.
It's framework brings to mind strangler vines,
its victim already defeated, already rotted away.
All this, is one way to look at it.
Others may believe they are eye-sores,
blemishes on nature's beautiful face.
But it is as it is, and to go back,
would be suicide.
Dear MargaretDear Margaret
I hope your enjoying yourself.
I hear the views there are stunning,
And that the neighbours are friendly.
Maybe I'll look for a place there too,