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Our Flame will never be Extinguished

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  Our Flame will never be Extinguished The chosen elite who entered the rotting, worm-eaten confessional to seize the primrose were never saviours sent to bring lasting peace or settled order. That was merely vanity blazoned across their heraldry. In truth, they were the indispensable stewards of the loop, anointed not to break the wheel, but to ensure its teeth kept grinding. They took the pale, delicate bloom, the Acclimatisation Society’s consecrated symbol of subjugation, fully aware that planting it within the unyielding ironstone would provoke the very friction keeping the world aflame. They required the transgression; they needed the spark. For the empire does not endure by resting in triumph, but feeds upon the perpetual, exhausting struggle of its own unfinished conquest. As rebels swarm the grand, baroque plazas and consume the cathedral of yesterday, they believe they are dismantling their oppressors' fortress. Raising torches, they watch ancient spires dissolve into a t...
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Nightcliff Suburban Path

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Seemingly alone
Within a habitat of knowns
Of their world

Where canines border patrol
In silence in readiness to abruptly utter
Their territory

Walk through as not wanted
Not to loiter not to stop
As a passive pedestrian








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