Mad Gone

Rookie (Date escapes me! / Belfast)

Be Silent - Poem by Mad Gone

What is left to be invented?
what is there left to say?
What was Karl Marx, but a name?
Why must things remain the same?
Simple foolish woman,
I played along in their wily game.
But shush! be you silent!
Don’t you dare, you anarchist to complain.

Media programmed and conditioned,
Marx a good-for-nothing lout.
Get yourself a job man, support your wife,
and put an end to her needless strife.
Hard working, upright citizen,
Preachers who work hard to earn their living.
Feed the tables of the hungry,
The prestigious class are in such great need,
As they organise yet another charity event.
But never ask were all their money has been spent.

Benefit fraud and the generation of dependants,
Why should the middle class all but pay,
While the rest, make hay and play.
Don’t tax the rich, for they are poor,
Developing countries, few left to explore.
Crusades continue to this day,
But in such a quiet and needless way.
Four pence to work an hour,
While the milk of those who profit sour.

Crime is does not pay, but in prison,
How they seemed to play.
Community sentence all too short,
released too soon, society’s growing wart.
Young men in gangs, to impress
Tribal gear and tribal dress.
Young rebel, I hear you say,
But what is left for them to do,
Put yourself in their ill fitting shoes.

No money left to fund your pension,
Bankrupt country, but shush! Do not mention.
Election Day around the corner,
Position, power and influence theirs to squander.
While the country we love, sinks further under.
Mortgage your life, your wife and kids
While the auctioneer, listens for any further bids.

The elite of time, have often sought to silence,
Making up rules as they go along.
Fox hunting ban, there for the house to overturn.
While morals for fellow animals meet with scorn,
Children bodies are tossed aside and left to burn.
Haiti’s troubles grow, as western countries slowly sow.
Stalin, alive and well, but shush!
St. Petersburg a holiday that we will gladly go.

Be quiet, be silent, shush, do not complain,
For recession has slowed their greedy gain.
Greasy tills and politicians, count out the expense,
While the rest, sell themselves to pay their rents.
But at least we can have our say,
For it is near Election Day.
Go to vote, why I would rather go and play!


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, May 5, 2010



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