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Based on an ABC TV report of Cyclone Tracy


‘Twas the night before Christmas.

Restless children bundled in sheets

awaited unknown surprises,

slept through a rising shriek

as the clock struck midnight.

 

Midnight:

dreams lost in chaos, darkness beckons,

engulfing the bones of broken homes,

skeletons ripped of flesh.

No longer fit to house a home.

Frames no longer …

 

Frames that no longer house souls

swallowed by an abyss. Metal carcasses strewn

in a street autopsy. Roads cracked

like the lips of the elderly.

The toys of neighbourhood boys

play with ghosts. Life left behind.

 

Life left behind,

drenched in tears of the broken,

abandoned in Dystopia.

A town in ruins,

an act of drunken disaster,

childhoods stolen.

 

Stolen by the wind,

houses stripped of the life inside,

shattered souls leak from framed eyes.

Origami unraveling.

Like loved ones in mourning,

sheets of iron embrace lifeless trees.

 

Trees defeated,

hope drips from ceilings,

drip drop.

Clouds empty.

A town void of substance,

yet, in the sunlight,

green grass triumphs.

Autopsy


By Year 9 Students

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