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
To private enterprise decades ago.
For our own good they told us,
Some believed, some didn’t.
Those who didn’t and could
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.