a thin grey sea fret

rolling down over fat green hills

between me & the sea

i was at war then

in that far off bucolic happy valley

with feckless people

who could not hold the line

even when in their own best interests

bringing their petty battles to me

wanting what i had but having no ability

to work towards that  

wilfully never understanding

i too had come from nothing

to this illusion of something

of having more than they ever could

there were no winners there

no victory processions

when fighting with fools there can

never ever be a win as they refuse

to recognise their defeats

those they were born to fulfil

in the politics of envy

of wanting what others have

they are incapable of creating

in the campaigns they take to others

hoping to resolve though

forever coming from within