Fire, Ashes and Name Tags.

No passion,
The poor steal from themselves.
''The people are making a stand'' says the boy without a reason.
And another child lights the bin.

If I am honest,
I've seen more passion in those I disagree with,
This country burning at all corners,
But the outer fires entirely manageable.

'Why are you rioting tonight sir?'
''The police don't like the black,
the police don't like the white,
the police don't like themselves!''

Dressed as you are, in the clothes of 'the poor',
You attend school the next day,
And you apply yourself to your desk,
Safe in the knowledge that you stole a name brand computer,
And torched the home of the poorly dressed too.

Poor man see, Poor man do,
You can barely call it a revolt.
The job centre laughs and polishes it's outer windows,
And tesco' employees straighten their name tags.

The croft woman does open her curtains,
''You see kids, you slept soundly last night...
And the road is a pathetic mess.
The ashes can be swept in an hour.''

My passions lessen as the days grow cool,
And you ask me frequently,
''What's happened to your boots?''

~

''If any of that pointless aggro comes to Bristol... please leave the fucking Gorillas alone.''
-Anon friend's online plea.