Poem #23: How to Get Out of Bed

We live in tired times, when even the clock sleeps.

We’re finding it hard to find reasons to get up when the alarm beeps.

Politicians blame us, we blame them.

Then we stand back in awe and confusion of this new violent revolution.

The banks pen off cheques and we see PMs driving Lexus’.

We struggle to pay our debts whilst the rest of the world looks at us like we’re the rich Westerners!

We’re consumed by guilt when those poverty stricken kids come on the box.

Then we see people who’ve seen many years and the numbness makes it look like they don’t give a fuck.

Let’s wish luck to our mercenaries abroad.

We all seem to foget that the German soldiers where also forced.

Every pound spent on a gun is one less lung; probably

- At least there’s more air, even though we’re closer every second to the trees being gone.

-See!

It’s a class war!

Well, what side am I rooting for?

Do I actually have a choice once this country’s borders are torn?

Are we ever gonna get over our social ideals?

And focus on bigger things than, let’s say; sexual thirst and meals? (Yum Yum!)

Shall we exchange authentic emotion for scripted potions?

Or the 80 years of interests to be tastly toasted for the million spam message board posters?

If I could hang, sellotape, bluetack anything to this canvas wall…

It would be something along the lines of the Consent Law.

Thou shalt not do anything to anyone else against their consent.

A couple of obvious exceptions then I think we can all be bothered to get out of bed.