I created this poem, I don’t know if it’s any good, but it’s quite long (801 words) so it rambles a fair bit. I don’t believe in structures when it comes to poems, apparently. It’s stream of consciousness, and I was doing one of those write-750-words-a-day things and I thought a poem would be a good idea (it wasn’t).
First thing that came out of my fingertips, so I ran with it for around quarter of an hour to get there.
Some days are good, others are bad,
But most are days they tell you to be glad.
Be thankful for what you’ve got,
And understanding of the things that aren’t your lot.
These are the days of the few, the plenty and the wild,
Where there are riots and starvation and nobody’s mild.
We aren’t the ones crying for what we had.
Oh the joys of the oppressors when they had us down,
And the education of the useless to win the crown
That would mark us in their papers furled
But be absolutely unready for the real world.
We are but the marks upon their wages and record
And I am not, for I refuse, to be among the horde
For I alone shall swim as I watch them drown.
While weak in their surveillance, the power of the few,
I learn all I can and train until I am ready to do
All that I will, for I shall not forget
The sacrifices before me from people I’ve never met.
Lives lost in this battle of wills is frightening,
And the poor are struck like lightening
As they try to navigate their lives like the rich do.
In this world where the gap between the classes is wide
And everywhere I turn I find that everyone has lied,
Because they all live in ignorance, and it really isn’t bliss
When nowhere is private when you want to take a piss.
And the streets are dark and menacing when you walk them at night
For everywhere is rubble and the ruins reach quite the height
But you feel rather small when the old lady has cried.
She was the oldest, the one who remembered the start,
When the world was still whole before it blew apart
When one powerful man had his finger resting against a button
He twitched and watched as his people became no more than mutton.
The rich they sat and stared and waited
For the poor to piece together the destruction they created,
Then scrambled to run with their belongings in shopping carts.
When the world becomes right, when we join together,
I doubt it that someday will become more than ‘never’,
For the peace to come and the fighting to end
We will need more than empty promises for it to mend.
I won’t hold my breath while the rich all migrate
I want to rule them and show them how to dictate,
And you’ll just sit like you do and wait forever.
Are we not all just watchers that way?
Bystander who lurk and hope that today
Someone else will help that one who needs aid
While you just stand around and think about the next raid
From your children on the stuff in the cupboard
And your wife with her feet up thinking about the bird
Who flew too close to the sun, what would he say?
Our days are numbered, out here in the dark
While the rich sit with lights and without their hearts.
There is no rest while we plan the rebellion,
And I know of one who will be a hellion.
The saviour of the hour, our right chosen one,
He who will lead us until we’re done
And will hit the enemy on the mark.
So while we plot and plan and scream,
The hateful rich will lie in their beds and dream,
Of days before the world was a wasteland
And they could travel to their realms of sand.
The poor to them are but workers of hard labour
For we are many and cannot afford our own sabre
As we work in the fields in our little team.
When the bell ends and the children start to cry,
And the tides break leaving the sand dry,
When the drought happens and the crops go off
And the rains stop and the rich start to cough,
We will be waiting, the poor and rebellious,
With our weapons and plans while you are jealous.
Because you just sat there and watched the sky.
So while others were doing what needed to be done,
And you were out there having fun,
In this desolate world of cold and ruin,
What else was there that you thought didn’t need doing?
The plans were made and executed to perfection
And now the rich are locked up in their own section
You thought you could escape the fate so you run.
But I caught you, for there was nowhere to hide,
In this place of dust where everything is dried,
You were just sitting there and watching like usual,
And now I think you are completely delusional.
For what else is there to be when you watch
But never act but drink Scotch?
You are just one of them, only you cried.