(A Poem for a Royal Birth)
So a Princess is born,
the silver spoons are near
for her to be fed,
with all the vestiges of power,
that she could ever possibly eat,
while media overdrive in frenzy,
gather outside, a life of privilege awaits.
the poorest among us,
born in chains
our voices go unanswered.
and in refugee camps across the world,
children choked in shadows of rubble and dust,
their future already denied,
they are seemingly invisible.
Innocent children killed by drones,
the press ignores their story,
and people consigned to poverty and misery,
by tory austerity and welfare reform,
are expected to fawn,
whilst queing at foodbanks ,
running on empty.
Daily we are manipulated,
and the benefit claimants, pensioners,
and the underpaid workers,
are told to go to hell.
Royal sprog does not have to worry though,
in the 21st century it seems, we're still born unequal,
will be looked after by nannies, sent to public school,
look forward to a lifetime of pampering and privilege,
and his grannies had a bloody pay rise too.
It's weird shit, is it not?
Guess there will be more vomit to come.
Until the future, gives reasons to celebrate,
when all divisions are finally abandoned,
a generation from now, all of us born absolutely free,
beyond the bullshit, the flim flam and the glitter,
this day is coming, it wont be long,
when the peasants finally revolting,
stand outside the palaces gilded gates,
wave goodbye, to the monarchy,
once and for all,