Art from the
heart of the Cross.

2019 exhibition by the artists of the Uniting Medically Supervised Injecting Centre.

Art from the
heart of the Cross.

2019 exhibition by the artists of the
Uniting Medically Supervised Injecting Centre.

Battle of Self
Wish Clarke

My enemy is faceless, yet can be seen
He hunts me regardless of my team
He shows no mercy, and revels in me
The beautiful crystal is known well, to be
A great victor, he claims many
Yet he never celebrates, for his victory is my mercy
I submit, for only a moment, it’s all he needs
To those who have beat him, for help I plea
I cry for the tactics, I desperately need
I find no solace, I surrender and fold
I make haste, for hiding, I run, I flee
But I find my opponent in waiting, in hold
Expecting my arrival, he spreads like disease
For I battle myself, my will and my goals
I celebrate each loss, I plan it Actually
He’s positioned himself like a blanket, over my nation.
Waiting for All who struggle in self, to find they are free
They find their strength, their peace, their solace, in amphetamines
So I surrender once more, I submit, I give in
I willingly make a decision to sin
My fragile state of mind I pollute
To any and all in recovery, I salute
Though I am weak, and again I have used
I do not give up, only the battle I lose
For the war will go on, eternally continue
I remind myself of my slain brothers, the fallen, I choose
I remember the good, and I selfishly use their loss
As a weapon, I will not confuse, I will not be moved
Like a mountain, I stand strong, though beaten by wind and sinew
The war carries on, after lost battles, after injuries tended to
My weakness is my relative, my strength be renewed.
My friends give me power, to carry on, continue,
But my friends also battle, and often they lose
We are the cursed, the outcasts refused.
Rejected by society, the examples, the used
Righteously feared, but wrongly accused
For mostly unaware, innocent when introduced
We are alike, our childhoods lacking, in one aspect or another
Be a material struggle, or emotions misused

Perhaps it was a connection, or love, withheld by those
Whom we depended on, to show us all we’d knew,
But our childhood influences our ailments, ensued
I change the tone, for the (listener/reader) I lift the mood
For our shortcomings and battles are balanced with clues
We’ve sought the great self, and we know the size of our shoes
I willingly stereo type, who I refer to as “you”
Though healthy and busy, and kept in the loop
Your sight is fogged, your life, a slight ruse
You run the rat-race, and waste more than you use,
You scour and scold, those who differ from you
You face your own battle, to understand You
You judge what is alternate, and differs in view
You project your misunderstanding upon what you fear
Angry, and scared, you’ve never been shown
Not yet exposed to what there is to be known
As children misled, forever to serve,
The minds of our historical leaders were cunning, and quick,
They generated a system of separation, ignorance, and hate
I don’t hate you. I hold no angst.
I don’t even fault you for projecting your hate
Your conscious perception is infant, un-awake.
And instant enlightenment, a good concept, yet fake
Even if all of man were to wake up, I fear the damage is done,
it’s just too late.
Change can be made, nations can be saved
Created as equal, yet divided by names.
Religion will teach us acceptance, yet on the same page
Will teach us division, with wars they wage
Against any culture refusing to change
Any family set in their ways,
God was lost at the first killing in his name
He would not accept this, how could you expect praise
If he were here, he would be hard pressed to forgive
The schisms and doctrines the priests teach us with
God is within us, to save is to give,
To share with the needy and accept the different
Take all you need and then some more,
Until you have you, you will be sore.

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