This is essential a Socialist rant about the timless and, seemingly endless, practise of attacking the poor. Not only is it a poem highlighting the guilt of those persecuting theneedy but also about the majority of 'us' who say and do nothing about it!
The screaming silence of a million forgotten graves,
A million tears that have fallen and stained the ground,
Leaving nothing but cheap, petrol station flowers.
They have left for a new dwelling,
Entering a warmer and more comfortable house.
Where a raging fire welcomes them home.
No more must they endure the
Coal-smothered faces and
Empty days of poverty.
And yet our consciences dance
Free and weightless.
We bear no guilty albatross,
We suffer no restless sleep
With our dreams disturbed by a rugged, ragged trousered phantom.
This is the crucifixion of the poor.
And you and I, we are Judas Ascariot-
The guilty bystanders-
As we bear the load of the four horsemen.
Hand in hand we swirl round and round,
Like a barbed wire and bullet prison.
Our silence resonates and shouts;
It drowns out a million funerals,
Of a million faceless victims.
And our consciences still dance,
On a million forgotten graves.