The angry socialist -part 1 revised draft

I walk through a cobbled town
To hear the klaxon howl the echo.
Revealing relic remnants of the old Victorian philanthropy sound,
that gave sun rise to the ideals of social responsibility,
but now a music hall hollowed out in distant memory
With Its sound system shackled
by the irons of the privatised trickle down economy,
Keeping to the beat of a one two step
Conserving the conservative dogma
Of hashtag austerity measures in check.
I wonder if there ever will be a new melody?
But nothing will ever change
whilst we all consume on our instagram selfie
And filter ourselves ‘stuffed!’
Are we missing a kind of new age Quakerism
or are we just loosing faith in our common unity,
in common people,
in common society,
in common ideas,
in common aspirations,
in common ambition,
in common revolution?
Our silent unanswered prayers
have found Faith in loosing our religion
via contactless payment on repetition.
I’m not looking for charity,
I just want a new sound-system.

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The Angry Socialist – Part 1

I walk through a cobbled town
To hear the klaxon howl the echo.
Revealing relic remnants of the old Victorian philanthropy sound,
That gave rise to the ideals of social responsibility,
But now a hollow distant memory
Shackled by the irons of the privatised trickle down economy.
Peabody estates,
Cadbury’s workers’ village,
Scattered garden cities;
All once held the promise of a society
To encompass the poorer communities.
Now they lay waste to myth and urban legend
Cascading amidst a daydreamers vision;
A landslide of Utopian ideas
Found in alien derivative alternative dimensions.
27 years surfing rapid rapids declining local skylines
Of working class young adults.
Forced out of London’s
Mathematical formulaic enclosed price brackets.
Eclipsing our stars and the sun and renting out
Cardboard box rooms to gaze at the moon on pay per view.
Honest conversations with dishonest hands
Watch with itching fingers to pull socialist triggers,
That rough the winds to shake false foundations.
Inhibition takes flight and lands on the stage dressed in moonlight.
Place my heart to rest with the anarchists, bandits and thieves.
I remain pacified with a book of prose and verse instead –
These scriptures write better truth
Than the parliament of owls pecking at borderline, bottom-line threads.