The Reality of What It Really Is

                            The Reality of What It Really Is

 

 

On looking back,

How did we ever remain so naïve?

Why did we ever believe we would

Change the world?

     We sit today within a society

That when scrutinized up close -

When digging down deep beneath

The aesthetics and false promise

You’ll find; it’s not the society you want -

     Yet, you are placed within its structure,

Placed unwittingly within brackets

 Of this or that,

And nothings really ordered,

Nothing but commands from

Law and its enforcers,

And you can bet,

Behind every new law is

A rich man, a rich woman

Who dares not uphold their name

In public,

Dares not tell the fear

Of public disorders of;

Non-participation.

     I’ve asked once and

I’ll ask again,

In whose eyes is the law beholden?

 

     Don’t you see Mister Politician?

Don’t you really see who’s in control?

Don’t you see the anger,

The hurt upon the public’s face

At all that they have lost for,

Where is the sense of freedom’s

Where is now our belonging

When we’re seething from the seizing

Of our liberties,

     I really want to know

Why I cannot see my child?

Why I must sit here upon poverty

And have no choice at all

And what is more,

You’re not investing in peoples

Unless the rules that you’ve

Created are upon the weak;

A fix for your indoctrinations of power,

A sowering upon a human

For the sense of might

That they mistake as being able

To do as at their will – their  wants.

 

     You rally all your troops

And buy those who’ll not agree,

And for all the sense of injustice

You’ll never find unless you

Have the balls to walk these streets;

You’ll fail yourself as pretty -

While shitty is the pavement

We walk,

Shitty is the talk of liberty,

Shitty is the way ‘you’

Uphold misjudgements

Shitty is the talk of microphones

And speakers for the peelers

To do at will their own sad sense

Of justice and still,

     You’ll never get the fuller picture.

 

     I am sat upon a microscope

Watching all the excrement beneath

What you paint,

And it takes one artists brush

To form the picture,

But many there interpret it

Upon the fate you proclaim

Is the future for your canvas,

     Its direction upon its meaning

Left open to interpretation,

But deeper still beneath the glare

Of different colours and shades

And hue’s, the angles,

The curves the strokes and

Views on standing back,

 With all its clever

Meaning, all its clever claims,

Is a pixelated piece upon decay!

 

     We’re not doing so well

In ghetto towns,

We’re not doing so well

At all with murder more

Apparent than it

Ever was before,

And if you’re listening

In with microphones

And cameras and speakers

Down to bureaus you’ll

Hear the educated masses speak

Of,

Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt!

     And though the expletives be harsh,

That’s about the fucking all

You’ve left of us,

The fucking all of humans

Where a life has left no meaning,

And dreaming,

Be I and many,

Who only wish

For the

Wonder of

A loving

God,

To

Take

Us

All

Away

To

The

Furthest

Of

Beyonds.

 

Michael J Waite 23rd May 2012.

society

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Comments

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Marianne Louise Daniels

Wed 23rd May 2012 10:17

This is astounding - intense, fist-punching-the-air-stuff. I love it. Would love to hear this read - could you put up a recording?


Excellent.

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