The Man Who Killed England

The Man Who Killed England

by Stephen Cook

Did England fall or was she pushed?

The Man Who Killed England

Copyright Stephen Cook 2012

The Man Who Killed England

The Man Who Killed England

Last night England perished in my sleep; Her cry for help was tangled in my dreams, Smothered by their folds, held baby-like and weak, I may have stirred but was not woken by her screams. And when dawn broke with dismal light I woke To winter's paean hung upon the barbs of her defeat, Her wilted rose by blight of bare-faced liars choked, Her people strangled by their own elite. From a thousand tiny wounds of small neglects, The talents of her people frittered all away, Asset-stripped and sick with tax and debt Did she expire in slow inglorious decay. A million lenses framed her agonized demise, Snapped each and every knife-twist of her pain, Freeze-framed, re-wound and then in some archive Each mishap stored from whence reviewed again. Fine-etched the small components of her death I knew, Slept through but studied after the event, In armchair ease with dull detachment viewed, Like a soap or sitcom scripted for lament.

The Man Who Killed England

It seemed to me she got the rough end of the script: Good people never should be written from the plot, But the moving tape records and serves its writ: No rewinds change the truth of it one jot. Commercial breaks and sitcoms came and went, Like prosy time-released each to its slot, But the tape ran on until all life was spent And just before the end it seems that I dozed off. But slumber carries with it its own curse, That he who sleeps is doomed at last to wake And there the TV waits to tell the worst Of what he tried to miss but never could escape. I watched each documented expos - I did my bit That mapped each sorry twist of her decline And sombrely agreed how bad was all of it, That something should be done while there's still time. How dutifully I watched each televised debate Confrming it was all some governmental wrong And what could anybody do but wait For some new messianic nut to come along

The Man Who Killed England

And fleece the flock with fey agendum hid Behind "solutions" that always honest men bear ill, Who - while he tighter nails our coffin lid See his coffers and psychotic dreams fulfilled. I paid my tax and (honest) never broke the law And drove with care along the middle of the road And if I could I would have done much more But the medication then kicked in and so I dozed. Somehow I missed the better part of this glum tale, The diagnostic why's and wherefores of our plight, Or perhaps we citizens were spared the odd detail The "who" and "how" kept out of sight For fear that we might make sense of it and wake And understanding fill the people with its power So that energized we might stir and then re-take From feral hands the febrile stem of England's flower. Men of ill intent usurped the offices of state And so the state ere long was organized for crime 'Gainst we for whom their scams did seal the fate Of a nation pushed, not fallen, to decline.

The Man Who Killed England

Yet every one of us ne'er less did play our part, For where we dare not look does evil bloom And the sum of all our blind eyes turned grew vast And for the spread of evil obligingly made room. The collective irresponsibilities of folk in truth Do government's tomfoolery comprise, For where from decency they hold themselves aloof, Entrusting it to criminals, it dies. Behind each sorry aspect of this mess there lies Some criminal self-serving with intent, For good men's efforts never would contrive To snare good men in such predicament. For evil to take root and win the day Alone requires that good men all do naught: They sleep or wait or look away And so forfeit the battles they never truly fought. I would have fought of course, I always planned To rouse, puff out my chest and join the fray. I hope you will forgive I lived life second-hand; Id have found the field but for the armchair in my way.

The Man Who Killed England

About Stephen Cook I am a professional writer, author and copywriter. I have several published books and a newspaper column and have published several hundred articles under various pseudonyms. As well as a writer I have run businesses (okay, I admit it: not very well), worked in human rights and social reform and, currently, in drug rehabilitation (I am a withdrawal specialist and detox specialist). Back in the seventies I was, for a while, a hippy and I have also been in the British Territorial Army (Parachute Regiment) as well as been threatened with murder by London gangsters. I have been happily married for almost thirty years and have three children and three grand children.

Professional Writing Services Humour (Humour) Government The Great Banking Scam

The Man Who Killed England

The Man Who Killed England