For What They Have Done

Wind howls through the overgrown,
A jungle of overgrown grass
Building blocks at feet
Rolled down ditches

The grey sky looms over me
Only dimming the derelict wreck further
Lined along the rubbished streets

An old black street
A product of BNP Britain
But no sign says so
Those in power
Reluctant to admit
Strangely, people still live here
Segregated by the racism of old
Disadvantaged by hate
Devastated
By disadvantage

Loved ones were lost
Money disappeared
Forced into the dark, cold rooms from block to block
Boarded windows
Gravel on the floor
No wall paper on the wall
No carpet on the floor
From each and every cave like cargo
In each and every row

Crime for money the order of the day
No work
No love
No way out

And everyday
Our makeshift homes crumble
And so do our hearts
As we walk the streets
Broken lives
Faded dreams

Walking through the depths of despair
As the air fogs in the damp
As the coldness of life radiates through the atmosphere
And the bricks continue to fall off them building

Leaving the area
Passing Through
Coming across an old manner
Standing tall
Walls smooth and polished
Quality interior
Six foot Oakwood fencing
A happy white family
So near
To the pain and injustice

Soon all will not be
As I wait
For the anger, the violence, a bomb
To explode
And collapse this establishment
To smash down those fences
To take away what they have
To hurt them,
The way they hurt us,
For what they have done.

completely fictional (though in the next 30 years we'll see if that remains) highlighting the danger of far right politics