Clare McWilliams

Rookie - 6 Points (05/05/1977 / Bangor, Northern Ireland)

Through The Looking Glass Date Written 8/11/2007 - Poem by Clare McWilliams

A void of commercialism and misinformation,
It's the black hole of the television station.
Designed and arranged to make you believe,
Whatever Falsities THEY choose to weave.

If you're happy enough-sure what does it matter,
You can just continue to get stupider and fatter.
Eat this, Drink this, you'll get bigger and smaller,
Simply ignore me, for I'm just a warning caller.

Reading and writing between the lines,
Adverse to society- and the way it declines.
Into a comfortable silence at what's going on,
Whilst Martial law invades- due to Terror-con.

What can little me do-I feel so trapped
Should I allow myself to be zapped?
By the tube that EXPLAINS that MY LIFE is grand.
For anything that would tell me otherwise is banned.

Have you heard of the famous Wanta Plan?
Or read Dr Boyle- now ther's a man,
That seems to know much more than me.
However, is that a conspiracy theory.

Do YOU read the vatican documents?
Bothered to watch Dylan Avery and co's version of events?
Do YOU think 9/11 was a job from the inside?
Or viewed ZEITGEIST to see how the stars coincide...
With the story of Jesus- A white western son,
Of the Caucasian God- Have you caught up with that one?

NO...
Coronation Street, Monday, Wednesday, Friday,
For God, King and Country- count blessings they say.
Close your eyes-you don't want to see sense,
Pay your bills and taxes and your tv license.

If you don't you'll merely go to jail,
But abide by their rules- and through life you'll sail
Are you missing those bills that say they don't need proof,
To keep you for longer under their hot tin roof.

But go ahead, by all means!
Don't listen to me,
I'm the crazy minority.
Let them poison your mind and your bodies.
THEY OWN YOU...
AND THEY OWN THE NAUGHTIES.

There are fluffy big rabbits all over this earth
Shouting LATE..I'M LATE..WHAT WILL THE WORLD BE WORTH?
You may believe they're the one's in wonderland.
By the time you look through the looking glass-
We'll have run out of sand.

Sometimes I envy the ignorance of the television junkie.


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Poem Submitted: Friday, November 9, 2007

Poem Edited: Saturday, April 23, 2011


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