Bread and Circuses

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Austerity measures. Politics in Britain today and a warning from history.

Submitted: December 19, 2010

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Submitted: December 19, 2010

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How troubled are we, one who has non to challenge. Whose infinite depravity is surpassed not in nature, for what use would there be for such a thing. A creature that stands alone under all of heavens light. One who’s blackend hearts desires, drives to hunt to chase, to dance and of that we must and that we will though now we find non but our neighbour and our own will.
*
Our tune our true art is found not in bright bended metal or glass, nor be it the painting on a wall. Merely distractions are they, woven into the subtle intricacies of manipulation and deceit is our craft. That is our art that is our constant. Our dark genius our dark symphony, to twist dreams until they themselves become the very vessel from which to manipulate and subvert. The pinnacle of our sly hunt the death of a lifetime that takes a lifetime. One once stalked rightly knows they should have done more, to try harder, next time, not to give up, to go that extra mile, to continue, to die a little each day and most importantly to do so with a topheted smile teaching those that follow tomorrow flames a bright new day.
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The predator grows complacent now forgetting just what it hunts. Be warned histories ambers no longer light, forgotten have you what not long before came through broken glass one terrible night. Cities burned consumed with rage, unleashed a plague of vile intentions born from poverties bloated blight. The Romanovs before and Auguste’s demise in Frances last financial plight, least not in ancient times when cities fell echoes of Athens and Sparta’s orbit it reflected. Hesiod’s nightingale shall rest not this night it must continue it’s fabled flight. For rarely a barbarian raging often have lived and died having spent many a weary lifetime toiling and slaving. Consider you David’s fallen kingdom where purple princes and former slaves continue their contested waltz this very night. We watch safely knowing that will not happen here no streets alight and blazing, no royal cars with future monarchs shaken, poked by an angry mob motivated and scaving. A cold hand from antiquity extended this time Paulinus’s invitation politely rejected.
*
A prison for each to carry within, ours is not the first just louder than those once proud echo’s past. Histories lesson clear for all who quieten, then hope sustained on Bread and Circuses, now for each a place called home and two days of rest. Once dreams neglected our melody ended, each time your pray grows weary anarchy reigns, all roles contested, only a new tune will be respected.
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For dance, dance again and darkly we will.


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