19 April 2012
I wrote this about 15 years ago (eek... I feel old now!) but after the events of the summer it echoed to me...
Like jilted lovers we walk the blackened streets; Betrayed by this dark sprawling city, Yet still so in love with its harsh unpitying life.
A blue light screams its presence through the twilight, The children are bored, nerves frayed, anger taut.
Fumes choke the senses, you can taste it as you breathe. Where's the catalyst that will start the revolution?
The echoes of disenchantment and the promise of blood, Bring the young like moths to a flame. Searching for their own world but dazzled, They get burnt, but still return.
Bottles, bricks, sticks; makeshift weapons, In the hands of these poor, misguided warriors.
There's blood on the streets again. Reporters gather like vultures, Circling, desperate for a piece.
The riots over; the wounded rounded up. The catalyst forgotten; another fallen martyr.
No one remembers what they were fighting for, Just a tension breaker to relieve the monotony.
Life returns to normal, In England's grey, unpleasant lands.
Bradford • Opuss № I