This poem was inspired by a trip to Tasmania – specifically Port Arthur, whereupon I was able to glimpse at the lives of my country’s earlier settlers and the grisly natural prison that was the Tasman Peninsula.
The sun rises up, around
And again one stands and sees
Standing cold, cold and dry,
How awful hope can be.
Doors of freedom sealed and bound
With only death to break the lock,
Taste the salt of southern tide
Dashed upon the wave-strewn rocks.
Isolation drowns the sound
In the prison of Van Diemen,
Where the tortured writhe and cry,
Trapped forever by the heathens.
– 2013
P.S.Clinen 