son of the southern cross


Son of the southern cross


Born beneath its pointed spokes.

Always there.

Thick or thin.

Better than any friend.

Unconditional in its companion.

Ready to point you in direction.

Shining brighter than its bed.

Ready to guard you from

The wrong path.

Its friend to those that

Set eyes upon it.

eternity and true.

As it will never lie.

Heads a sleeping,

It’s a watching.

With its own companions.

The Emu n seven sisters.

As they arch across the southern sky,

Perpetual motion.

Above the commotion of nocturnal spirits,

That wonder nightly across this

Great southern land.



The bloke from TI



Softly he sings.

At the end of light.

In his bed at night.

I can just hear him,

Amongst the noises of life.

I want to ask him,


he sings for

missed love.

His island home.

Protection on his journey long.

But I know, the real reason.

I just can’t acknowledge.

I want the protection he sings for,

Brings forth.

To envelope me to.

Before I slip into the

Land of Dreaming

On his softly singing


dreaming tree