Those who are at the end of the queue, always…

At year end oft, we think to say
Look back no more, as comes new day.

Some will see it with their spoons engraved
Though sadly, many remain enslaved.

But Hopeful ever, we press right on
As we search for good in everyone.

In store and warehouse food is bailed
Urgent supplies for when crops have failed.

While shattered lives in tents on hillsides
Families caught in the refugee tides.

As earthquake victims lie underground
Courageous rescuers listen for sound.

Some must rely on drug-lord’s favours
In lives that no sane person savours.

Yet here are we in our clean safe home
From which we’re always free to roam.

Complaining often, we fail to grasp
The richness of our situations
In truth we live in comfort zones
Free from terror and deprivation.
Whilst some no luck they ever see
Until in death at last they’re free.

And who should tackle such terrible woes
It should be us, plain as your nose
So we elect fine politicians
Who mainly only serve patricians
From whence they mainly are derived
Plebeians forgotten, of voice deprived.
For even though your vote was cast
And Bills you disapprove get passed
You only get to vote one way
And never really have your say
Your troubled mind creaks with unease
As those in charge do as they please.

And in inertia nothing moves
The rut of hopelessness just proves
That though we feel the pain of others
Around this Earth we all are brothers
The comfort zone adapts to fit
The place within in which you sit.

Meanwhile, those victims still in tents
Await such help as we have sent
Which waits in ports in rotting state
While shares are argued in debate.
We did our bit they all will cry
But did that stop young children die??

©Joe Wilson – Those who are at the end of the queue, always…2016

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