Lost Communities

a poem by tobias kerins, UK

From the Amazonian jungles, to the Himalayan heights
The wildest of parties, to quiet lonely nights
Hereditary favour, people in high places
To those less fortunate who tie up their laces

Opposites in life, of the spectrum different ends
What sort of message, this situation sends
Perhaps one of division, those with and without
Or with more precision of wealth a drought

Start with the houses, the old bricks and mortar
All hope is killed off, like a lamb to the slaughter
Normal people can’t buy, as they simply can’t afford
Of the message I write, this strikes the first chord

To get to work, people use the tube and the bus
The price to travel, creates much fuss
Sixty pounds a week, for working five days
Of the message I write, the second phase

Small business indeed, feels the grip and the cost
As penalty tickets, by traffic wardens are tossed
Cars unable to park, so much trade is missed
Of the message I write, third part of the list

The price of a pint, exceeds four pounds
At the bar there are murmurs, unhealthy sounds
The pubs all close down, more expensive flats
Of the message I write, fourth chapter the facts

Then there’s the wages, the Cockney greengages
They haven’t gone up, for ages and ages
So how on earth, are people meant to pay
Of the message I write, the fifth and final say

It’s a vicious circle, a continuous loop
Rich man and venison, poor man and soup
The divide becomes wider, no chance to converge
As the poor become poorer, the wealthy emerge

From the Tower of London to Buckingham Palace
Is living in London, the poisoned chalice
People move out, they seek cheaper places
Communities are lost no one knows the faces

The Bell Tower
The Maltese Falcon Vol VI
The 65th Challenge: A Narrator For The Spaces In-between

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