Paradise or Prison
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Poetry
Our faces are seen above uniforms of green,
We parade in this prison, all shaven clean.
"Another day in paradise", we sarcastically wink,
"We fake it till we make it", we tell our shrink.
We feel like stock on a bar-coded shelf,
Stored, then shifted between warehouses of wealth.
At the mercy of 'sirs';, kids with keys,
Who are half our age, who we need to please.
On our hilltop horizon, some silhouettes appear.
Marching black cattle, grazing on the clear.
A trinity of eagles, wind-surfing thermal waves,
They see both sides of the hill as slaves.
In our prison tents, we queue, single file,
But over the hill, you shop in the same style.
While we crave to return to your 'greener' side,
The eagles see a truth that we all try to hide.
You crave an idyllic pine tree sojourn,
But our star-lit escape costs more than you earn.
You crave spinning windmills where regal eagles reign,
We crave spinning steering wheels and aeroplanes.
You see this tent as Her Majesty's prison,
But the eagle's lens sees a symmetrical prism.
While we bemoan an injustice miscarriage,
You may bemoan a miserable marriage.
Why wallow my walls of incarceration,
Within bedroom walls – your divided nation.
Between each brick you add cement,
When you let the sun set while your heart resents.
We're unleashed when we reach the sentence full-stop.
While you're life-bound to shackles you cannot chop.
Our hill orates its' sermon on the mount,
When we're down, we gaze up at this wisdom fount.
Are you a slave to the debts that never forgive,
While our temporary tent gives us temporary reprieve.
Eagles see paradises, and prisons without bars,
On both sides of the hill, where there's no greener grass.
Our faces are seen above uniforms of green,
We parade in this prison, all shaven clean.
"Another day in paradise", we sarcastically wink,
"We fake it till we make it", we tell our shrink.
We feel like stock on a bar-coded shelf,
Stored, then shifted between warehouses of wealth.
At the mercy of 'sirs';, kids with keys,
Who are half our age, who we need to please.
On our hilltop horizon, some silhouettes appear.
Marching black cattle, grazing on the clear.
A trinity of eagles, wind-surfing thermal waves,
They see both sides of the hill as slaves.
In our prison tents, we queue, single file,
But over the hill, you shop in the same style.
While we crave to return to your 'greener' side,
The eagles see a truth that we all try to hide.
You crave an idyllic pine tree sojourn,
But our star-lit escape costs more than you earn.
You crave spinning windmills where regal eagles reign,
We crave spinning steering wheels and aeroplanes.
You see this tent as Her Majesty's prison,
But the eagle's lens sees a symmetrical prism.
While we bemoan an injustice miscarriage,
You may bemoan a miserable marriage.
Why wallow my walls of incarceration,
Within bedroom walls – your divided nation.
Between each brick you add cement,
When you let the sun set while your heart resents.
We're unleashed when we reach the sentence full-stop.
While you're life-bound to shackles you cannot chop.
Our hill orates its' sermon on the mount,
When we're down, we gaze up at this wisdom fount.
Are you a slave to the debts that never forgive,
While our temporary tent gives us temporary reprieve.
Eagles see paradises, and prisons without bars,
On both sides of the hill, where there's no greener grass.
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