A TIME OF CHANGE (written in the style of Simon Armitage)

This is the News -
Not to be confused with reality
But rather a sci-fi blockbuster or some nightmare flick
Before the hero puts it all to rights,
Two dreadful flights into two uprights,
Pillars of the Nation's Mammon,
Alters for the dead to die on.

A coffin, shaped with wings,
Crashed into an office
Where the receptionist was instantly vapourised,
And the fireball that took off her eyelashes
Before peeling away her face
Was part of a giant conspiracy
To start World War Three,
Or maybe direct attention from a failing economy
Or perhaps put a pipeline across Afghanistan
With the sole purpose of pumping in liquid gold.

Still, conspiracies as they go
Are never as strange as real life;
And whilst we mock those waiting for their Truth to emerge
We quite forget that our Truths,
Though in front of our noses,
Can never be seen -
Usually because they're terribly obscene.

There: let's say it,
That 2000 gone is nothing
Compared to the millions dead
Snuffed out by wars, disease and starvation,
Whose sole monument to life will be a patchy grave
Somewhere in the middle of desolation,
Whose only hope lay in a cynical world's exploitation
Either as sweat-shop labour
Or as the recipient of ultimate degradation,
Charity.

Let's say it again, and blazon it on high,
That the price for all our wealth
And our rich grief
Are the millions who anonymously die,
And that we, who beat our chests and cry
Know NOTHING of the end of dreams,
Because at least ours have a beginning:
Whilst those who live in permanent grey
Must see the world from day to day
As one drab land through which they trudge,
The bottom end of the feeding chain,
The life of an eternal drudge.

- of course, we've tried; but tried what ?
Tried to be shot of nagging guilt,
Those monuments we have built
To our generosity
Revealed as shams,
A World Bank, a United Nations,
Gravy train meetings at frequent stations
Of the already portly
Caught on camera and shortly
To be shown on Crime Watch U.K,
Their cover blown -
A criminal fraternity spending eternity
Going from table to table
Discussing the problems of the poor,
Whilst the poor scream of death at the door:

This, you see, is the flaw -
That no one actually, really CARES.

Until two aeroplanes catch them unawares.

Still, the broad sweep of the universe cannot change
The weight of expectations;
The myth from the West
That perhaps it's best
To leave well alone:
That our wealth has grown
From prudent management,
Wise investment,
Trouble-free, clear-thinking minds -
Best to pull down the blinds,
And cement on our retinas
Images of destruction,
Of insanity from the outside world -
Rather than question our beliefs
Which could lead to troubles untold
For us
Internally.

For this is the flaw -

Our strength is our greatest weakness,
We are spiritually poor,
Our wealth makes us want MORE
When there's no more to give
And now the world's raw
And snaps back
With a claw
And claws back with a roar
Of tumbling towers
Some semblance of dignity -

Which is all that people ask, really,
The chance to live in a decent world
With head held high
And dreams that can fly,
Not those crushed into oblivion.

To be continued - maybe..........