The sullied towns of England – An ode to the self-serving

The longer this Government goes on, the more glaringly obvious it becomes to those who hadn’t already realised, they have forgotten about us. Elected to serve the people, but ultimately they are only self-serving.

The sullied towns of England – An ode to the self-serving

No one talks about us.

The boys and girls,

Who became the men and women

Of the towns that no one visits.

Even if they did.

Scratching through the surface

Of what on the face

Is a dire existence,

They would only find that it gets worse.

It’s the land that humanity gave away

For tuppence

To private enterprise decades ago.

For our own good they told us,

Some believed, some didn’t.

Those who didn’t and could

Left.

Some had to stay.

No one ever came to rescue of those

Who churned the days,

Like milk to cream to butter.

It just got harder as each new moon came around.

As bastardised versions

Of those who left were reproduced by those who stayed,

The heartbeat weakened.

In the end it died.

No one mourns the loss of the people,

Or the homes they created,

But perhaps they should.

The best of us all sank,

With those people in that place.

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