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  • Writer's pictureTony Frobisher

We Walked

We Walked


We walked over broken brick and glass,

Shattered fragments of recent lives

Lost to memories in burnt photographs,

But held in hearts that pulsed with pain

And minds defiled by war and hatred.


We fled, led by fear and chased by demons,

Passed through heartless, pitiless hands.

We flocked like flightless helpless birds

Crowding the shore, searching for hope

Between each trembling wave.


We left the solidity of dry land

For the uncertainty of the sea.

Life and death on a boat, a raft of hope?

Washed ashore by the endless tide

Of those that would follow us.


We arrived in the cold sunrise

Of a new dawn and the alien

Land that stretched before us was

Hope. But all that glitters can be tarnished

By rejection, mistrust, suspicion and hatred. Yet


We walked on foreign soil,

Embraced by foreign arms.

Listening to foreign voices,

Watching foreign faces,

Enjoying foreign tea and tradition.


We found hope. It was there

Shining in the cracks in the darkness.

And in the faces that smiled with welcome

And kindness that lit memories of home

And family and friendship.


We forgot despair for a few precious moments,

And walked with our foreign friends

Upon pebble beach and alien streets.

Drinking milky tea and imbibing soft words

From those who we now realised were not foreign,


Because they walked with us too.



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