This by Mark Rawlins

This is the tyranny.
This is the fear.
This is the misery
for those who live here.
This is the hatred.
This is the war.
Nothing is sacred,
not any more.
This is the anger.
This is the pain.
This is the hunger,
but this is no game.
This is the pestilence,
this the disease.
There can be no resistance
from down on your knees.
This is the rotten,
and these are the starving.
The people forgotten
when it comes to the carving.
These are the children
fighting for rice.
This is globalisation,
and this is the price.
This is humanity
at its very worst.
This is insanity,
and these are the cursed.
This is the murder
and this is the rape.
This is the fervour
they try to escape.
This is the boat
and this is the lorry.
‘This is our quota,
we’re terribly sorry.’
This is your great ploy
to protect your own land.
This is the small boy
washed up on the sand.
These are the bodies
left to decay.
Whoever your God is,
he’s just run away.
This is your power
and this is your glory.
This is the hour,
the end of the story.

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