And so it begins the familiar Old tale,
For it never Stops nor ever fails.
The News being bleak from the Radio spits,
Like the Blackest Tar it flows and drips.
For the latest War is doing the Rounds,
Now Love and Peace is gagged and bound.
And our leaders speak in Boastful tones,
Where once was Bows we now have Drones.
And Crime has hit an all time High,
For it's better to Steal than to Graft and Buy.
It's 'Up yours Mate', least that's the plan,
All Self-Worth pride flushed down the Pan.
And what is this along our Streets,
A surging Mass of Angry feet.
Some heated Protest now regularly found-
Is a 'Vexing of Dullards' a Collective Noun?
And Fatuous M.P.s all stake a claim,
To giving pride in the Country again.
All promises made are often grand,
And Written large on shifting Sand.
And so it goes this daily Waltz,
The Raging Bull to speed the Pulse.
A constant battering to the senses made,
From the Workings of Man in the existence trade.
And with 'Goodbye' the Announcer leaves,
That Soothsayer of Doom for the B.B.C.
It's another journey down the road of life,
The Helter Skelter of Humanities Strife.
So with his Song by Breakfast Fed,
I count the Hours until it's time for Bed.
To float away by Morpheus held-
In a Happier plane I'd Happily dwell.
-
Author:
Kevin Hulme (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 3rd, 2026 19:38
- Comment from author about the poem: Wake me when it's over.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments5
Ah sleep the great escape. Nicely written a good read
Your always welcome. Thanks for Reading.
You are very welcome
Good read
Thank you. Good you liked it.
You gone to bed?! lol.
Nearly. Now where's that Cup of Hot Milk?
Thank you for Reading.
Kevin, this carries a real weight…that endless cycle of noise, conflict, and promises that don’t hold. The way it builds and then settles into that quiet longing at the end…yeah, that stays. Strong piece, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
It's a daily Noise from the TV or Radio.
Thank you for Reading and Comment.
This carries the weight of a weary observer watching the world spin louder than it should, and still finding rhythm in the telling.
There’s a rough, honest pulse in it—like frustration turned into something strangely lyrical and steady.
Appreciate your Reading and your Comment.
Thank you.
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