- For the Corbynists (rough draft) Archived Message
Posted by Ian M
on January 7, 2020, 2:08 am
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Hands around my throat Smothering Choking A steady murderous intent Silencing the words Before I speak them Suffocating before my lungs Can draw breath And give me back my strength I knew it was this way And yet somehow, still, I didn't Until I gave that small part of me Inoculation To the crowds who spoke my mind It's not a fair fight, Not a free exchange, Innocent flow of ideas Shared in good faith No, it's a bitter, centuries-old struggle And we have arrived, fresh-faced To the battlefield with the blood Of the last lot still warm, Still sticky underfoot They won't listen, They won't bargain or negotiate They will SMELL us out And see their sworn enemy in our eyes Just another iteration Of the same beast to slay And they will come for us With all their force And malevolent fury Look at what they've done The hero cut down Pleading, wheedling, abject apologies And the crowd divided, split, Whittled away, wedged apart, In disarray And now we're at eachothers' throats The larynx swells, The words rise up, An indignant heat prickles the forehead But we stay silent, Standing ashamed before the corpses Of innocent comrades we failed to defend While the murderers gloat and goad And spit in our faces Was I so naive to think there would be No consequences for speaking this way, For giving voice to these thoughts, So forbidden, so utterly banished? Now the consequences lie before us In plain sight, left to rot in the open To serve as a lesson Is it my own fear that I feel Tightening a noose around my neck? They say that the purpose of a lynching Was demonstrative, intended to smother Any thought of rebellion in its infancy One night of terror, public, brazen And suddenly there's a slavering mob Watching over every utterance Ready to pounce on our imaginations Make no mistake: this is a war They have declared it over and over To those who were listening, Who weren't trying to believe In comforting illusions Or stay infantilised, neotenised, Learned helpless, desperate to the last When will we stop bringing penknives To this gun fight? When will we accept that these enemies will not be placated And must be defeated? It won't be pretty It won't be perfect But we really, REALLY have to start |
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