This poem was written by a good friend of mine and was originally called "Blairs Britain" just shows that nothing has changed except the supposed leaders of our country
Who's hugging hoodies now? by Triona Scully
We're not all going to hell on a handcart.
We're not all going to burn.
We're not all going to fry
and I'll tell you why.
This is hell.
We're here.
There is no greater posthumous fear
than this soulless abyss
we call twenty first century Britain.
Here, where the God of money rules with an iron fist
and a lead head and a hallow heart.
Here, where the politicians play the part of prophets
pilfering and pillaging and prostituting their promises for profit.
Here where the spin doctors weave the threads of those promises
into silky speeches that slither and slide off politicians tongues.
Here, where the media move in on those tongues for a close up
in the stitch up we call the news
where every one's views are tolerated
except the views of the minorities.
Here, where the views of the majority
means the views of those with the most money.
Here, where everybody's got there five minutes of fame
yet all the faces and the voices look and sound the very same
and real artists who won't play the game
get sold down the drain of not mainstream.
Here, where racism is an epidemic
spread by a gutless government
fearful of integration and the implications
a people at peace might have on its' powers.
Here, where our police state cowers
to the will of that gutless government
and pisses on the pledge that it made to protect its' people.
Here, where the young wail their descent
whilst we clamp down on their vents.
Firmly in their place we put them
but still we can't shut them up
They're just too angry.
See, they've got nothing to believe in.
They've got no-one to lead them.
They've got no-one to feed them
with dreams for the future.
There's nothing there for which they can care.
These children of Cameron's Britain
aren't happy with their lot
because with everything they've got
they've got no hope.
Here, where capitalism is revered
and socialism is feared
and idealism is jeered
and spirituality is sneered
and all of society is geared
towards the cult of self obsession.
It's here I've made my last confession.
I've said my last prayer.
See me, I really don't care where I go when I die
and you want to know why
it won't be hell.
Hell is here.
There is no greater posthumous fear
than this soulless abyss we call Dave's Britain.
©Triona Scully
