Have we really lost our way Open warfare every day Perhaps if some could compromise Earnest talks could open eyes.
Sparing children from seeing death Plaguing memories till dying breath Rights of all, to live in health Interfering warmongers who all get wealth No money, the poor go to food banks Guess you dine anywhere if you sell tanks Somebody making a fortune from others.
Each bullet fired can kill someone’s brothers Talks round the tables among heads of state Extracting solutions before it’s too late Roses should be given by lovers on a date Not on the gravestones of victims of hate Armageddon is the end-game we fear Let’s step back from the edge, it’s dangerously near.
Thinking back now, knowing it wasn’t then the same Sex lives free and easy and the rest just a game But recalling the names of my friends from back then I find they’re so few now and I miss those young men And I bless that I knew them as I take up my pen.
It was a time they called ‘swinging’ in the press of the day But those of us there at the time just made hay As we carelessly staggered through our wild teenage years Racing round in cars with bad brakes and crunched gears Till we arrived at adulthood and took on new fears.
Some of us got married and our lives felt complete A few drowned in alcohol and lived on the street While others tripped out just that one time too many On the drugs that were freely available to so many You literally could get them at ten for a penny.
But most of us moved on and we raised families With mortgages or rent life was no social whizz And our children carried hopes for things we’d failed to do Such an ordinary tale that reflects me or you But it all helps to bind us together like glue.
Now we find ourselves older and wiser perhaps Managing to sidestep some of lifetime’s worst traps And we pause for a moment and think of those days Many of them spent in a drug-induced haze And we’d not change a thing, we just shifted our gaze.
His pain from fire was seen round the world And Governments’ collective lips all curled Such profanity was displayed without a care A King left the runway as his jet took to air. Leading his people against this vicious attack It began long ago and there’s no going back They’re baying now for the terrorist blood He’s sure to know it will come to no good.
So many wars and so much fighting And so much bloody death New children are brought into the world Where wars just rob them of their first breath. Everywhere now seems awash with the blood With the blood of the Innocents While the world is slowing destroying itself In human inflicted increments.
Wizened by the hardships of his life he moved his tired old body to the edge, it took him longer to get out of his bed these days, but get up he would for if there was one thing he had learnt it was that time spent in bed was time lost in the fields and the crops didn’t pick themselves, of that he thought he was sure, though he couldn’t quite remember why.
He sometimes wished that he had not been so adamant about farming in the old way – a bit of that confounded modern machinery would sure help sometimes as digging potatoes across all those acres was hard work and he’d been doing it for so long he was beginning to hate the blasted things – he certainly never ate them, preferring instead to eat all his food from cans as a way of getting his own back on some other poor so and so who probably hadn’t broken his back at harvest time for sixty years.
Dad – Dad – it’s Tom , Dad, your son, never mind Dad, perhaps you’ll remember me later. It’s alright. What potatoes? – It’s alright Dad, let’s sit here and you can tell me – no please – please Dad, don’t cry – please don’t cry. I know Dad I miss Mum too. I wish I could explain Dad I really do.
Why does this horrible man always keep me from my work, I’ve got tomatoes – – potatoes to pick, tomatoes, potatoes, well I’ve got to pick them anyway. Why should I sit down? Tell you about what? I’m not going to tell a stranger where my potatoes are, or is it tomatoes? I’m not sure now. I must sleep – I’ve got lots to do, I must be fresh when I start.
Dad – Dad – you sleep now then. I’ll just be in the next room. Perhaps – perhaps we’ll talk a bit later. I miss you Dad………….
[This is a repost that is a direct response to the continuing cuts in services within the NHS. The front line are doing the work with one hand tied behind their back. This is one of those services. One in three people over 65 will develop dementia and there is currently no cure. There is also inadequate funding in both care and research.]