Friday, January 11, 2013

What fresh hell?

Helicopters threatening hope,
blades flashing, twirling,
the knaves are out.
New school is Old school is all,
but twisted, twisted.
And I have to raise my head
to blue skies
above bullshit,
heart above hypocrisy
This new regime that uses the same old machine
and the things we resisted
are now insisted clench-fisted,
blandly or blindly followed.
It breaks my hollowed heart
Fills me with anger
and despair.
Where do we go from here?
Who are ‘we’ at all anyway?
I’ll stick to the lonesome 'I'
The lyrical confession
in hope for a less bitter vision,
a better version of new.