The Life That Never Lived

At 3am, pins dropping were disturbed only

by a sharp intake of breath,

my breath, stealing itself atop

the sweat now rising from the depths

of new anxieties woken each day the

tabloids of UK state the case for

a homogeneous race of supremacists;

A desperate mix of mistrusts built by spies

changing legendary myths by lies and fake,

And I'm like a life that never lived.

I'm fleeing a chase by a gang keen with blood and

hate, my mate went left – the fight

too tight to light fires of crimson anger

deep inside, rage for Nazi bastards

now seeking our death.

Like a life that never lived,

coming from the gutter is a life we don't forgive.

I'm Black!

And that's no big deal except upon

the emotionally, genetically, un-spiritually

retarded bags of bones and skin that claim

they be both human and a being

I thought the last of seeing all this

was the best, for back when dealing all o

this in a nineties skit the shit was buried

deep, now once again the turf in cemetery's

keeps the grave-man digging

fresh.

Like a life that never lived

coming from the gutter is a life we don't forgive

a life that keeps you light upon your heels.

A scribe like I with gifts for

futures nearly ran cannot predict the day

I die, I try though, and long ago as blind

as I sometimes be I could see,

could feel the vengeance in manic

eyes on estates where fools take

bribes from cowards with an axe to grind -

and I wonder, why don't they teach their history,

for millions died upon the opposite of wise

when an Austrian came to power in a skinning

of a human kind.

And like a life that never lived

coming from the gutter be a life we don't forgive

a life that keeps you light upon your heels

but believe, the racists graves are also many,

The allies stood together and flood

from heavens the British Pole and Czech,

Indian and African, Caribbean and American

And we beat the fascists back,

we stood together in a soldiers lonely

uniform and tended wounded of all castes

in clothes the nurses couldn't wash from all

the blood that spilt.

Yet still, yet still you crave our kill,

and the skills that you posses lay dormant

in your chest, a heart turned blind

with only hate to find and I'll wait,

wait for you to pass and regroup,

group with my friend who you'll

detest, just because he's white and

claims my right hand side.

And like a life that never lived

coming from the gutter be a life we don't forgive

a life that keeps you light upon your heels

but believe, the racists graves are also many,

and scattered like ghosts in dark untended fields.

Michael J Waite 10^th May 2009 2300hrs.