Something of a post-release rant against the establishment conspiracy that deprived me of human dignity for so many, many months. I hope they hear this but they probably will not. They will be too busy stitching someone else up, I guess; an activity which requires much training in order to stay within legal guidelines and which they seem to regard as a legitimate occupation. But, as I imply in the poem, now that I have a public voice, I intend to exercise it.
I need to emphasise, however, that this is not about particular individuals. It is about a system which, just as we have seen in recent history where millions of people have been allowed to perish, allows individuals to hide behind statements like ‘I was only doing my job’. That is one of the slippery slopes about which I am trying to warn the public!
It’s quite a complex poem with some religious references as well as references to other poems of mine. And it is meant to be heard rather than read, because of the juxtaposition of the sounds. If you try to read it out aloud yourself you will see what I mean.
Freedom’s Thieves
These thieves that find pleasure in freedom taken
Should think well upon what their delights have done
Even fellow travellers were mightily mistaken
By webs weaved of confusion that these spiders have spun
Were they truly convinced of some righteous cause
Or confounded by spurious, temporary applause?
Revenge will earn them less than its cost
For by these very lines, that battle is lost
Any wisdom in words laughs longer and louder
Than rattle of chain and jangle of key
Some prisoner prey proves stronger and prouder
Than scrapers and bowers and benders of knee
Doors that banged shut, now wide open stay
Whereby poets pass to find any way
To spread the message far and wide
That, for these thieves, there is no place to hide
Their own soul will find them, even perched on a pew
There is no escape from their self-shaped shame
They may ask for help from some chosen few
But must look long in the mirror to find who to blame
The bed is made on which salvation lies
At its last gasp, evil spirit dies
For their cries and creepy, crocodile tears
Will never give back those stolen years
Destined to live in a poverty of knowledge
Of the truth and justice which makes man good
And cannot only be learned in school or college
Which by the oppressed, is so well understood
Let them dwell well with Pilate’s conscience
Forced to accept absolution’s absence
Whatever they may think they might have believed
They can never return the freedom they’ve thieved