A Fire Beneath

Remember, remember, the 5^th of November,

Empty traditions, on repeat.

A figure sits slumped on thick rotting wood,

An inner fire that burns beneath,

Silenced by flames that grow higher and higher.

Remember, remember, the 5^th of November,

A night like no other – but an echo in history,

When voices rose to the powers of prosperity,

A fortune blessed,

By a ruthless righthand and a remodelled God.

 

Remember, remember, the 5^th of November,

A cold, dark tunnel, a watch and a match.

Each step, a clock-tick closer to revolution through death.

A joyful day of deliverance proclaimed,

A joyful day that never arrived.

 

Remember, remember, the torture of man.

We know all too well how to snap bones and pierce skin –

But our minds are not so fragile.

Bloodied, plucked teeth and mangled flesh only highlight a weak shell,

For such a venomous capacity.

 

Remember, remember, a cold night in January,

When each accomplice was dragged from the Tower,

Their destination, waving gently, signalling relief.

A tall ladder stands: These will be your final steps.

The last to approach the scaffold,

He climbs close to the rope, and at the top, misses the noose,

And jumps.

His neck shatters as he is greeted by death.

His lifeless body then quartered and showcased for all to see,

By the very souls not fit for judgement.

 

Remember, remember the 5^th of November,

A life mocked and re-envisaged through old clothes, newspapers and a hollow mask.

Each commemoration, a backwards war,

Where bombs ascend, their destruction disguised by colours and crowds.

A sour defeat – sold as a celebration, as well as a reminder:

That the poor will always be weak.

 

How Great is this land?

Where cries are muffled and scars of the past – interrupted and pushed aside.

How powerless the masses that stand before the shadow of a man,

Who holds an inner fire that burns beneath,

Now silenced by flames that grow higher and higher.