Revolution, evolution, poverty, injustice
Social scandals , magic candles, rainbows in windows,
Clapping on Thursdays with pots and pans, sounds of music,
singing, cheers from hill tops, skies breathing, trees beaming, smiling, you can taste the crisp cool, as there is no jet fuel, clouds dancing.
Riots in the USA, not for the poor, who are struggling, as no health care, so many dead. The blood on money comes first. A Tale of Two Cities, inequality, greed, not need, scientists, the new vices, don’t listen, says the fake news man. The rich, are alright with their might, swim on hot days in their own pools, whilst the masses wait in ques.
Can’t the poor just eat grass, said the Marquis of France, so many have no jobs, how long will this last, families, trying to navigate benefits plunge into an abyss of delays.
The Twins fight their north and south with love in their hearts, a sprit never apart, the soul of Carton, near, whilst the other wears scrubs, her delicate hands covered with latex gloves, her beauty covered by fog, from plastic visors, just to see patients in their homes, their only life line, many so alone.
Everyday, you’re on the front line, not knowing if you will die, a uniform of pride, yet stamped on, they don’t earn thousands like hedge funds, milking empty pots.
Offices, theatres, retail, workers now using food banks, a game of catch up. The rich nobles playing havoc with people’s lives, laughing drinking expensive wine, whilst ordinary people, homeless, in hotels, soon to be chucked out, and feel the cold on their backs as they sit on the ground, numb with no sound.
Twins, from two countries that have plenty using trickery, drink disinfectant whilst the other has a baby. The painted mirror shows the same reflections. The twin shadow boxing, invisible enemies, who cares.
Doctors, nurses, cleaners, carers go to battle, without armour, paper guns in hands, sandals instead of boots, all countries rivers high from crying eyes. Fragile masks, cloth ones two with designs on skin like tattoos.
A government on the cheap, manufacturing PPE sent out of the UK, it’s not ok, being sent to the USA, whilst we face delay.
The Twins revolution, hospitals, street parties for VE, so many lost upon many wards, shops are drowning, pubs to, our loved ones dying in stranger’s arms, and given their belongings, in a sealed box, you’re lot.
Those who have died will be remembered, as the Twin is in solidarity with you, from far away lands, their loved ones left empty amongst plenty
Twins, separated, I wish I could change places as the gallows are near, the executor’s sword, waits, broken promises and pathetic policies.
This is our 1793, The Twins will finally be together, people, will be happy and free, we will cherish all memory. The Twin gave you away, so she could be with her lover, away from the devils that have played us for too long. We can continue to sing our song.
Writing by SAM RAPP THE DYSLEXIC POET
Artwork by KAREN SIKORA