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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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Melbourne Summer Twilight

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Melbourne, she gathers strength as she goes
But where has the Pleasure Gardens gone?

The attitude and disapproval of forgotten times linger
No more holidaying for the diggers on the hunt for a bit of fun

Private enterprise will build the bridge

A wooden toll bridge
Bluestone and granite
Then removed replaced and reinforced

Finally, the possessive apostrophe was remove
The lost and whispering magnificence of 19th-century Melbourne







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The Territory of the Little People - Storm Clouds Approaching

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