top of page
Glass Houses

On the brink of non-existence

In an existential world

Where life is toil and hardship

With atrocities untold


In houses strapped together

With wire and bits of wood

In the middle of the no-where land

Where no one’s understood


The children play in sewerage

Along the untamed streets

They muck about as children do

With nothing much to eat


The water is from riverbeds

Of stinking bog and grime

The cities watch and shake their heads

In universal time


They sit in houses made of glass

The fountains play their song

They couldn’t care or give a damn

For those who don’t belong


Liz Horwill (2007)


Rest in Peace Johnny. You are missed.

bottom of page