The Hill

 

 

I don’t like you,

I don’t like you and fuck you, (they say)!

And it’s difficult for me to understand,

To really comprehend their hate!

And I guess, somebody has

To be the butt of their derision,

To be the focal point of all they mistake.

 

You don’t get merit marks for knowing too much

But now, I am dumbed down,

And know not why they have

Basterdised my brain - and continue

Without pause to stall my every

Positive intention

     So

Let’s put it straight,

Coming from the hill you’re ill

As they judge too freely

With suspicion and guilt

And it’s a post codal victory

For assailants sitting rich

Who have never had to scratch

The Earth just to make a pitch!

     Know your place young man,

But my young has gone,

Was never really there

From very early on

As despondent from only

Very small I carried on

A clown for who could take

The teaching seriously

While the beatings imprisoned

Every thoughtful wish

Of succeeding within the plot

Designed to thicken skin

And never, never broaden the mind –

My life, my poor poor poor life,

Has never been my own

And no wonder they disown

The system, when romantics

Dangle carrots for the next

Generation of wannabes but

Never have -  been,

They never get to where

They want to go – a far away place

Where they can forget,

Because the system lets

Them down,

Keeps them down as

Guinnea-Pigs and labour force

And forces to roam the world

Propagating society’s  failings.

 

I dragged myself up from

Ghetto speak that spoke

Of only racism and bigotry,

And love was never a lorra lorra fun,

So I stole a gun,

Compared my madness to the crowd

That sits in sadness for each cherub

Carrying rounds that take away

Another humans life,

And there but for the grace

Go you with afterthoughts of contempt

When the soldier turning criminal

Reacts only to the stress,

     She goaded me till the blank

Criminal record became a dozen dandy

Sheets and, you’re better in bed

When you’re angry she whispered

On my return from duties

Yet behind my back she was

Shagging half the town.

 

A dozen dandy sheets of victory

Not knowing that I loved her all along

But the winding up was just too much

Her fantasy,

yet

     Still, all is fair in love and war

But I wasn’t born for battle honours

And perhaps I shouldn’t have been

The born at all,

But I am here along with

A third of Britain’s poorest

Scratching pitching scrimping

Saving slaving shaving every

Morning another penny off the budget

Hating the faculty of poverty

The hard knock school that makes

Fools of those who really think

They make a difference

And it’s ignorance in Whitehall

Forsaking all the veterans

Before they even know

The cenotaphs existence

But it’s persistent of

A system that just doesn’t

Work for most,

     The hill,

The Darn hill, the hill,

A sand posted line crossed by those

With greater minds is never

Run by premieres or presidents

Ministers or Clergy,

But an authority that snide’s behind

Every Prime Candidates belief,

     For your not running the show

Cameron, Neither Gordon Brown,

Neither Thatcher, Wilson,

Heath, Callaghan,

Scargill, Major or the Queen,

Williams is!

 

Michael J Waite 26^th November 2011.