THE wisdom of young people who view the world through clear eyes has been captured beautifully by 12-year-old Juliet Moodley of Tacking Point Public School.
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Her poem Hades' Chorus, composed after witnessing the impacts of bushfires across the Hastings, is astounding.
Juliet reflects on the power of the written word.
"My relationship with deep poetry began to blossom at the age of 11. When I discovered I could write a new language using words, rhythm and rhyme," she said.
"Through poetry I am able to reflect self-thought and other people's experiences with myriad of emotions, using depth of background knowledge, and keen observations of today's society.
"My love for poetry continued to unlock and mature, as I discovered I could not only rewrite eloquently, but also seize people's minds and thrust them into vast imaginings.
"Poetry can voice profundity and guide people to experience new journeys with just pen, paper, opinion and our senses.
"I hope readers enjoy the first published sample of my poetical expressions, "Hades Chorus" which I composed with my classroom teacher Mrs Norman.
"It is a poem inspired by the recent bushfire events, using both my personal experiences and astute observations of the behaviours of others in the press and in my community."
Hades' Chorus
Juliet Moodley
As apprehension veiled the hills,
Ebony ash crowns the heads of those who flee,
The Beast with ruby eyes.
My tears leak like a limited river,
As my resentment begins to bleach,
The memories of laughter,
And the crumbs of my contentment.
I can hear the screams of loved ones,
Play like a broken tape recorder.
However the historic unity,
Is now a hollow ghost in disguise.
For what was ours, is now persistently His.
The trees throw silent tantrums,
Like a baby demanding affection,
Before a separation and a regretful good-bye.
I can see flames belching,
As vermillion tongues lick,
The hills and the valleys,
Like disfigured fingers strumming.
My feet and hands glued to the ground,
Like I've been arrested.
Punished for being selfish,
Consumed with splinters of conflict,
Where to go and what to take,
As I make my late escape.
The dense smoke stomps across my face,
Leaving filthy footprints.
My eye-sight becomes erased.
My eyes sting,
Like someone has poisoned the air,
With the toxic burdens of society.
It is an unforgiving perfume.
The flames begin to spit their spite.
I can hear my conscience whispering,
"Flight or fight?"
However trepidation has sealed every door.
"HELP!"
My voice begins to tremble.
My desperate cry mimed with mockery,
By the squalling, howling wind.
It is the end of calm.
The wind a practiced choir,
Belts out His cruel crescendo.
My voice withers.
Another soul lost.
The war of fire and man,
Relentless in revenge.
His hunger ever expands.
A ring of collaged coral.
Cerise smoke enshrouds me.
Evaporating the last droplets of moisture,
From my cracked lips dry as bone.
My vision blurs a fog,
Air brushed across my eyes.
My head starts to thump and pump,
Like an earthquake ruptured.
I collapse on my right shoulder.
Hoping every thread of sorrow,
Grief and regret will dissolve,
With the dispersing smoke.
Every sad silhouette egressed to fade.
I hear whimpers concealing panic.
With my own demons I must march.
Do I dance to the death bands?
One whose temper erupts destructive sparks,
Without thought or conscience,
To the destruction He disembarks?
It could make a girl chorus,
Her last goodbye.
Behind eyes shut her memories flood.
Faltering, suffering, vanishing.
Answers become questions.
Failures begrudgingly relinquish,
Tortured success.
Homes are lost.
Lives are saved
But...
Wounds, scars, most invisible,
May never heal.
You must choose which way to sail.
Which boat to ride.
Don't take too long to decide.
The trial of ebony riots awaits us all.
