Blight
Beneath the arc of crumbling dusk,
Lisps down the petals of the rose
To crimson-kiss the fountain bowls
Where the champagne faucet flows.
The guests in boarding houses
Felt the smoulder of their bones
Balding walls restricting transit
Behind the mortar work and stones.
And we cried and smiled and cheered
When the anaesthetic rushed,
As the opiate of media
Camouflaged the broke and crushed.
Oh, tomorrow they are married,
And the next day we will wake,
To our debts and thoughts of dying
In a world we didn’t make.
Yet today in celebration
We salute the future King,
Feed us pomp and circumstance,
We’ll bow and kiss your ring.
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2011
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