The Voice came tentatively to the stage

considered, loved.

It was needed but fragile.

 

The lights were bright.

A murmur from the audience

And at centerstage was the Voice.

 

Time ticked by slowly.

Tick, Tick

The murmur somewhat louder now

Tick Tick

anger palpable.

Many groups once divided, now together with burning Indignation

glaring at that stage.

 

Naively it came there to guide

to help and to enable a nation to grow

together.

 

Tick Tick

The murmur become shouting

Bolstered, fed and enraged from the Channel in the Sky

and cheered by a public eager to pass judgement

eager to exercise their opinion on

Woke madness!

 

Somewhere in the audience a refrain

‘I’m not racist but…’

 

In the stunned foggy daze after…

The writing on the wall appears

'twas a perfect storm for politics

a perfect front

a perfect way to wound

And a blow that will last for decades.

 

The stage is now empty.

Except for a visceral trail of broken hopes and dreams

of a Broken people

and of a Broken country.

 

Written after the resounding defeat of the Voice to Parliament referendum in Australia on the 14 October 2023