They must feel quite the superior being,

Leading you away,

Taking you away by force –

If necessary,

     And it’s thirty years on

Since the book of the dead

Became the reality we all fear for,

     Who can truly state they are alive –

     Who can say they can express to the full –

     Liberty and freedoms??

 

     Thirty years on the technology

They possess makes criminal of us all;

From whisperers to lies,

From the authorities that

File each and every intellectual as;

Insane just to keep the cover ups

In place and believed by a public

Unawares,

    

     And now I’m staring

Down the barrel of the gun

That is the bridge I wish to jump,

     For this is no life,

Where spooks and snoops

Target innocents just for having

Insight into their ways,

Ways they know that never

Go challenged because,

They know there are no Gods

To deliver mercy to the soul

That has unwittingly become

The target of their profession.

 

     No-one,

Gives a shit until,

Until it happens upon themselves,

     Where mail goes missing,

Where doors you closed

Before departure suddenly –

Are open,

     Where your phone

Makes clicks and of course,

The delicious ring where the protagonist

Hangs up as you try to answer,

     All; are very real -

Attributes - techniques of surveillance.

 

     This is no life,

This is not the makings

Of a developed society,

     This,

Be an infringement upon

Your person and if you shout

The experience knowing

Graves are filled with once

Great comrades,

     Then perhaps they’ll section you,

Keep you under lock and key

And inject you with tranquilizers

You know you just don’t need.

 

     They’ll tarnish every good deed

You ever did -

And label you schizophrenic

Or psychotic or bipolar,

And as clear a witness you may be,

You’ll never pass a testimony,

You’ll never afford the bail,

You’ll never live the days

Of welcoming fresh experience –

That bliss once bestowed

In time of ignorance before the murders,

     And all you’ll ever really want,

As they try rule your life

And orchestrate each orbit

That you had;

     Is the death they laugh at you for.

 

          Thirty years ago,

A book that detailed the death

Upon society gave many a man a warning,

Yet many a man without fair trial

Is now placed within the prison

That has become a once great nation,

And none; now know whom to trust!

 

     Once we wore

A beret, we sung allegiance

To a monarch now out of touch

With Britain’s peoples,

     And no-one prays

Below the steeples sat

Within the villages now under

Scrutiny,

     We’re zombie as

Like the walking dead,

We don’t count as human life,

     Our thoughts, dismissed

As invalid, inaccurate of our

Very real statement of account,

An account that lacks the freedoms

We once had,

 

     There is no God,

Just camera’s in Panopticon Britannia

Watching everything you do,

     A spherical prison

Keeping tabs and as much

As you try express freedom,

They’re sifting through your life

Like they want to snuff it out

And all because,

     They want control of

Everything you do.

 

     I fear the creationists are wrong,

Darwinian too,

Unless,

Unless,

     The almighty has become

The governor of our Jail

That seats a soul incarcerated,

Unless,

Unless,

     A collective will

Is one that seeks imprisonment

Of choice, where the bleeding

Of free expression be only

Suicide to please the crown,

For no-one here is at Liberty

No-one here counts and that,

     Is not life,

Nor existence,

But a living death once

Called, 1984.

 

Michael J Waite 7th November 2014.