Posts Tagged ‘Politics’

Society is a house of cards,
Made up of jokers,
Collapsing under its own unease,
The decadence and cruelty,
They didn’t listen,
A house can’t be built on inequality,
And fools make poor craftsmen,

When winter descends,
Some will be torched,
To heat the hearths of the rest,
And as we all fall down,
You can be sure,
The top cards will elope upon the wind,
The rest will be mulch,
A pile on the floor.

There once was an empire,
Lost in time,
Where bodily autonomy was fiction,
Profaned by a cult of suffering,
A power structure built upon hate,
Ivory towers built upon little girls backs,

This empire had been divided long ago,
Called united only by the mad,
Its women failed by those on high,
Some condemned to death or abuse,
Some reduced to incubators,
Liberty swiped by old men,

Evil is the herald of an empires collapse,
Some courts hear no justice,
And lessons are never learned,
Domination is not unity,
Red white and blue stained in ash,
The flag doesn’t represent the whole,

So rightly protest dear sisters,
Like Rome and Xerxes before it,
All empires fall,
And just like the Ostrogoths of old,
It’ll be torn brick by brick,
Burned down by its women.

I fear that masses are being castigated,
For the vices of a single man,
A fine line lies betwixt leaders and despots,
Power can be reaped dishonestly,
And often is,
Then wielded against citizenry and neighbour alike,

The people are not their nations sins,
Nor its aggression,
The people do not crave bloodshed,
Even soldiers rarely wish to kill,
They too cry as bombs drop over borders,
Not a KGB smile to be seen,

So before labelling them marauders,
Devils in human guise,
Just remember,
We the people,
They the people,
All are people.

This world is split into petty fiefdoms,
Swathes of land divided haphazardly,
Lines painted in blood and oil,
An unnatural barrier with great sway,
With the common folk cut betwixt masters,
Made unwilling foes,
A race split into us and them,
Fighting wars over borders pencilled in by dead men,

As they laugh in their coffins,
Already bedded with their winnings,
These lines,
Their artistic carving of dirt,
Impels us to be unwitting conscripts,
Speaking in munitions rather than parlance,
Trading antagonisms as readily as grain,
Dividing us ever further.

Within those halls of Oxford,
You’ll find the boys club,
No girls or plebs permitted,
A bit of an Eton mess,
A dessert reserved for the select few,
Wealth always finding a seat at the table,

Like feudalism never died,
They toast and have their cake,
And wear their pretentious bibs,
Taught all the tricks of the gentry,
Feasting as the yobs chew dust,
As the elderly expire in the cold,

These lads are bound for greatness,
Not by virtue of competence,
But by being allowed a slice of that pudding,
Like something out of a pantomime,
It’s enough to make the common man sigh,
A reason to think lowly of the highly.

I’m an ordinary British bloke,
Just trying to scrape by in my four-bed,
Back in my day,
I bought a hovel at eighteen,
Suffered little debt for my degree,
Why should the young have an easier time?
They clearly don’t work hard enough,
We never used to have mental illness,
Why not just cheer up?
Go and get some fresh air,

We’re being invaded by the displaced,
I see them on their dinghy warships,
They’re coming for the jobs we’ve retired from,
It’s true because the rag says so,
They said it on the front page,
It’s my opinion,
You can’t criticise me,
That would make you a leftie,
Full of woke,
Hating our country.

Atop a statue once depicting liberty,
Perches a foul creature,
An avian actor,
Decaying piece by ruinous piece,
A scavenger feigning regality,
A vulture wearing the feathers of an eagle,
Mould and droppings falling upon a flag,

Nonetheless this animal is loved and reviled both,
Regarded in both sycophantic and tyrannical aviaries,
It wants not for fodder,
The carcass of a republic lies below,
So it rends at putrid meat no longer protected,
Picking at the scraps of the citizenry,
The flesh of a populace with potential,

Each wing of this beast is dyed an opposing shade,
One crimson,
The other a dull blue,
Battling over which part to gnaw at,
Even as they rot and fester,
But make no mistake,
Both factions are wings of the same rotten vulture.

We are all data,
Little binary toys,
A horde of zeroes,
Leashed to digital space,

Simply prey to a carnivorous system,
Swimming like salmon through databases,
Pushing all of the opulence upstream,
While being picked off by bears in taxman gown,

We are just numbers to be counted,
A sticker book collection,
For some child in a highborn office,
A creature with a taste for silver spoons.

I find myself too close to the frontline,
A contest between two flags,
I see flames encroaching on the horizon,
The heat grins upon my cheeks,
Scalding like impending doom,
These highlands are a no-go zone,
A board game too close to a fireplace,
The stage of a ruinous romp,
The two flags converse here in mushroom clouds,
Talking points at destructive decibels,
Airstrike arguments,
And howitzer handshakes,

I dare not linger,
These men in high castles care not for the little guy,
They propel uranium darts at this wasteland board,
Collateral damage upon their tongues,
Before kissing above the carnage they wrought.

There’s a house on a river,
Tan and gothic in aesthetic,
Accompanied by a grand clock,
It’s a house of relics,
And I don’t mean antiques,
Red and blue in blood,

Sat along benches feigning opposition,
Breathing naught but dust and hot air,
They pass edicts destroying millions,
Guffawing and cheering like children,
Starvation and poverty are the gifts they offer,
The serfs shall be happy with crumbs,

They’re despicable little men,
Fat cats in silly wigs,
A deceitful gentleman’s club,
Just out for their chums,
It seems they’ve packed this flophouse out,
The house now only holds whispers of fraud,

You may ask,
Has honesty ever graced its halls?
Well there was this one Guy called Fawkes.