a voice crying in the wilderness

 a voice crying in the wilderness

i cry for the people who are crying

in the corridors betwixt this life and another

i cry for their indignity and our shame

when those responsible show no remorse

it’s the great game

the north west frontier all over again

stop the people at the gates

of their private estates

let the hoi polloi grow obese

from eating tomorrow’s cake

there is no anaesthetic in their manifesto

that will drug us along this corridor

between one caste and another recast 

by their gilded words

the canute of their midas tide has turned

they are to be drowned in the hessian sack

at the polling booth and cast adrift

their bloating stench is appalling

i will not cry for them that did this

for when we are on the edge of the abyss

the sunlit uplands are shrouded in mist

yet the sun of our determination will burn

and it will burn their clouds away

it will burn the stubble of their fallow fields 

we will plant anew

so never dry those tears 

for the are watering the future

of our seeds

but the days to the harvest are long

‘now this is not the end. 

it is not even the beginning of the end. 

but it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.’

so pick up your beds and vote 

this is our final chance

the scars are screaming enough!

but there is time enough for balm

now is the time to fight