'' The Meaning Of Stress '' Poem by Bri Mar

While under attack,
We just stand back,
While the rich continue to take,
Accepting the flak,
It's we who crack,
It's never those on the make.

Foodbanks galore,
The free food store,
Stop and ask yourself why,
Life's such a chore,
It hurts to the core,
Yet still they know we'll comply.

Put a record out,
Isn't that stout,
In its message, we don't have a say,
As the millionaires pout,
There is no doubt,
For their record the poor have to pay.

Injustice is rife,
It cuts like a knife,
The platitudes make things even worse,
The poor suffer strife,
Is this really life,
If it is then life is a curse.

Politicians talk mince,
Their mouths need a rinse,
What they say we know isn't true,
Even the prince,
Just makes us wince,
In reality, they haven't a clue.

The reason we know,
They put on a show,
Is publicity, no more or less,
It's hello, cheerio,
While you're left below,
They no naught of,

‘' The Meaning Of Stress ‘'