They see our hard earned fortune there,
in marbled city suites,
floating on a silky sail,
the nap of leather seats.
We had the opportunity,
the pool of genes in code,
a secret reservation for
a public school and Spode.
We had the opportunity
to own the reason why,
that predicates no chance for those
unable to comply.
Our felony, was founded on
a life of common good,
to serve as flotsam in the sea
of guns and power and food.
Consuming guns and power and food,
an irony indeed
that helps the cause of those, who crave
a hope of being freed?
It’s more because they need the work
to feed their flesh and blood;
prevent starvation, declining health
and keep them from the flood.
But threats to blood will thus ensure
their easy motivation.
So much to recommend the source
of limitless privation.
They have much more, by way of help:
attention of the press;
the poets and the playwrights too,
but nothing of redress.
It’s irony to say ’twas fuelled,
on rapid growth by debt
who is to benefit thereby,
who is to win and, yet …
who is to say what fortune means
if nothing else but luck?
Should we condemn all those who have,
who wouldn’t give a buck
for those whose sad congenital crime,
their birthright, is to blame,
for them, their lot, their plight, their fight,
but who should feel the shame..?
© 2013 John Anstie
[Another ballad! I can’t stop writing them at the moment, not quite sure why, but this is a folk tale of protest and philosophy with a touch of angst. I shall be submitting this to dVerse Poets Pub’s Open Link Night, later on …]
Footnote: I am flattered that this poem has been selected to appear in the very classy Blogazine, “Into The Bardo” (https://intothebardo.wordpress.com/2013/07/03/fortune/). If you enjoy quality poetry and well written prose, usually about the art of poetry and related subjects, then I thoroughly recommend you pay a visit to this site.