Arts and Food, Fed

I got fed, stood on rocky hills 
Where pastures of savannah replaced thick forest 
And the dry spell of drought, changed the richness of the land 


The livestocks, that which symbolised my freedom 
My riches and my very survival; cattle on open fields 
Had long lost the battle, to the seasons silence 


Skeletons w' PhD lay across fields of carcasses of wasted meat 
The winds carry echoes of rumours of worst to come 
I hear the birds whisper in anger, as austerity engulfs the poor 


This was the fault of the politicians, they saw this coming 
But opted to line, the bankers pockets as safeguard 
So now a dust storm blows, like biblical revelations 


And many a men, with pride queue in lines 
To be fed by the collapsing safety nets 
It was never meant to carry the load of so many 


And for a while, some have lived on it as their birth rights 
The jungles lay empty without hunters harvest 
Without the farmers basket 


Decomposition of the very fabric of society 
As sons of yesterday, sons of today, fathers of today 
Sisters and mothers, yell out for reasoning wise 


Why must they, have they, lost their dignity 
At the expense of the wrong doers 
My mind is tiered of pondering, lamenting makes me thirsty 


Ticking clocks as constant reminders of obligations 
Count down, on days into nights then another after 
I walked into an art house and got fed 


This time it was my soul the most that starved 
I walked into an art house, where painters galleries  
Lined the walls, with abstract expressions painted vivid 


And warriors held their guitar ready to engage 
A'  t' front line soldiers came with words to recite in poetry
I walked into an arts house, on Stokes Croft  and got fed