Less and not Full

Whether we’ve been left like Flint

Or reliant on the large white hand to pump water within a mile of our village

They hoard all the hoses 

The only ones who will survive this socio-political conflagration 

Had a lighter and an aerosol can in their back pockets from the get-go.

As worldwide carpal tunnel syndrome ensues 

Most hands lie limp 

Even those who clench

Do so for them are theirs 

Not you and yours

Not us and ours

Sitting tight in the little imaginary boxes 

Lapping up their guillotine melting word association game

Leaving us less and not full of hope nor help

For their turrets stand miles out of reach

Yet to many it is us in the palaces,

Us on the thrones, 

sat tall in all our gold and jewels

But we aren’t weighing the gold.

they are watching us sinking

Nothing to be but a pretty little fool.

Whilst It is true all grass has roots 

And there are plenty of neighbours whose lawns need tending

Most days we’re forced to sit back and watch them dry out 

In order to fertilise the grass beneath our own feet 

But no matter how much grass we grow

In the end, the hoses are always full of horticulture vinegar.

Bottom-up, top-down 

Whatever way you flip it

They are weighing the gold

Laughing at us as we sink

So we remain less and not full of help nor hope

There’s a better world coming

But it is surely just the next 

we’ll be their soon

Once we peacefully rest