How tenuous this grip we have, how slight our hold remains When all around loud braggards boast that power now pertains, We see the banner headlines splashed across our daily rags And redneck demonstrations cleans the streets of Spics and **** When blood runs in the gutter as the battons rise and fall And whilst taking tea in style the filthy rich ignore it all. The blonde leader of our nation struts, postulates and brags While the rest of us skive off around the corner smoking **** Our kids ingest confusion as they loiter on the street Unknowing our delusions make illusions held, replete. How tenuous the grip we have, how slight our hold remains As our allies shower cold distrust convinced our fault inflames. What chance of clear redemption, what remedies revive When truth is lost to darkness can our honesty survive? Reputation cut to shards, confidences ****** That leaders of community no longer hold our trust When white is caste as black and then to green and then to grey And sanity refuses pontification one more day. How tenuous the grip we have, how slight our holds remain As twilight turns to darkness caste against a larks’ refrain.
M. The White House HAMILTON, New Zealand 25 July 2018
Despair across the nation, good people sitting quietly in their kitchens not quite believing the chaos and disunity sown by the White House amidst their communities, not knowing which way to turn to seek reason, to seek an element of promise for the morrow.
Who would have thought this possible in what was once, the greatest nation on Earth?