The Drowned World

 The tide is slowly coming in,

Quicker than those tales of spin,

Glistening webs that deceive no more,

Rotting seaweed swept to the shore.

Skeletons are brought out to play,

For one more public roll in the hay,

Covered in sand and mines of deceit,

That are triggered by the slightest sneeze.

Not even the dead can hide the hall of sleaze,

Mocked by the infectious tiny tweet.

A change of name won’t tell the truth,

Whatever passes through the witness booth,

An old premier won’t be brought to justice,

And with Europa dismissing his seductive plea,

He’ll gallop back to the Holy Land free,

And try for peace with a rattlesnake’s hiss.

While millions scrounge for any job,

Turning their hopes to a racist mob,

This inquiry wastes our hard earned cash,

Instead of an incendiary, exciting flash,

It mirrors the floods that drown our land,

A torrent that covers the bare essentials,

And flushes out the true credentials.

Wainwright, even with his maps to hand,

Could not navigate his well-worn paths,

As we can no longer follow this democracy,

This penny-pinching, shambolic aristocracy,

Lost in their sheltered, hermetic ocean,

Addicted to the ruling potion.

Integrity is shredded again and again,

Like the confidential papers that reveal lies,

Never to be seen by our hungry eyes.

So hidden in time by the chimes of Big Ben,

The rulers wait for the decisive year,

Where fates will be elected, decades predicted,

In one day where some will be evicted,

And others sworn in with a crocodile tear.

In this age where bridges aren’t burned,

They’re overwhelmed by the key to life,

It’s no wonder people’s heads are turned,

By talentless twins and jungle strife.

Let’s find out what happened long ago,

Before the tide slowly came in,

And shook our senses to and fro,

Into an irreversible spin.

But when will we shout ‘no more?’

And evolve from amoebas dying on the shore.

© menshallknownothingofthis.co.uk 24/11/2009