Headlong

 

     I hear them,

I hear them calling out in the street

Issuing calls of despair and asking for help

And I would,

If I could,

If I had the power of legions

And armies and,

No, that just wouldn’t do

Any good at all,

Not anymore where

We are - fearing the worst

For a world where war,

Has become the only winner?

 

     You see, if it was up to me,

I’d be handing out vaccines and food

And giving clothes and guidance

To those now bordering madness

As refugees and its sadness

That befits this once proud man,

Sorrow for all I’ve become,

Sitting on fences because

No-one knows whom to trust

Anymore,

     No-one knows who

Speaks truth,

Who practices - Justice

And who genuinely upholds

The laws,

     (Laws now beginning-

To reveal a sinister side of their own).

 

     I am disabled,

I could have been a BG operative,

I could have taught radio

To the security forces

Or just be there when the shit

Hits the fan,

But as a man suffering

All consequence of experience

In theatres of operations,

I am,

     Dis-heartened at

The country I flew the flag for;

For, I am little people once again

With no power or trust

Speaking of which,

My criminal record as bogus

As it is,

     Was all for a love lost!

 

     What can I do?

What can I do but spout my offerings

Of empathy as I know

This world be unjust,

Like you I have cried in the street,

Asked forgiveness of God

And bowed down so far

My arse got fucked by a system

Geared up,

     To keep the poor – poor

And the wealthy in power,

And all around I see a waste of

Potential as kids take to drugs,

Take to the beer and become

The new mum and dad

Before their own have had time

To give all the tools they need,

     I see kids loitering with

Grim looks upon everyone,

     And I know deep down they are hurt;-

Just like I, just like

A whole generation

That grew knowing the worst

Of the worst

Where no child is respected

As a young human being,

And I would if I could,

I would help!

     But it’s not so good being

A veteran of conflict

Now knowing the truth

But unable to stop it,

Unable to teach all I know

Of the visions of children

Thirsty and hungry and grown

Men crying fearing you’d kill them,

     But what can I do,

How can I tell you the World

Remains constantly in a state of flux

We just cannot help heal,

     I can voice my concerns,

I can share the moments

The child screamed in my ears

And ripped out my heart,

But in truth,

     I gleaned all I needed

In Kurdistan,

Where I felt the true

Worth of war,

Where I felt so pathetic

Carrying a gun

To assist refugees…………

 

…………I am drifted again

Back to a time I was lean,

Where I thought the world

Be my oyster to gather a pearl,

Where my youth would fly

And skydive

And run like the wind

And take on each foe –

Knowing I’d win,

But in truth it all,

Became a free fall to hell,

A twenty second delay

Before pulling the D-Ring

And a twenty year sentence

For all that I’d seen

And what can I really do now?

 

     With voices and delusions

Paranoia and still the illusions

Make me sometimes think I could win,

 

     All I can really say,

Is that time helps you cope,

Reveals the mechanisms that help you

Survive,

     And all we can do is survive

The madness as best we can,

So hunker in groups,

Find your friends your true friends fast,

Say nothing to no-one

And gather your resources,

Sit the long winter

And hope the sun shines again,

And if come next spring

You’re still here

With no scars on your wrists,

No tales of hospital visits

To have your stomach pumped,

Then inside I declare you

Be ‘Man’ enough

To examine the truth,

Reveal the truth to yourself,

That no-one can help

Those who don’t help themselves,

All it takes,

     Is the courage to ask

For assistance to help you up

Off the ground,

To raise your own arm

Where it will be grabbed by

Those who do know the truth,

For if you lie still long enough,

People will step right over you

As they walk headlong into -

Their own – oblivion!

 

     You’re crying out in the streets,

You’re crying at home

In flats and council abodes;

You’re fearing the worst

And drinking for Britain,

Taking the drugs

And posturing as kings,

When in truth,

You’re just as hurt as I and many,

No longer believing in life here on Earth

Where the worth of your soul

Is measured by zealots

For what’s in your purse,

     And the kids go hungry again.

 

I would help but,

Like all us Kings,

I am powerless until

Honesty becomes the new norm.

 

Michael J Waite. 6^th September 2013.