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Wednesday, 30 March 2016

My Home


I see empty places and lonely cracked roads
I hear big cranes and builders banging and bashing into build new buildings 
I smell old dust that rushes through my nose
I touch the air that rushes through my five fingers 
I can see and hear the water streams that calmly plot through the city
I slowly walk past mums work the “Breakfree” 
on Cashel street 
and get the sense of my mum.
Christchurch is my home for me.


1 comment:

  1. i love your poem Ben. the way that you described the street i really helped me build a picture in my head. and i also really like the end of your poem were you say CHRISTCHURCH IS HOME FOR ME. kind regards ,Mason.

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