The Little Death

It’s really hard to remember When the fires of hope were not embers A time the City-powers did not suck And dealing with them no matter of luck The kind always has you on the back foot Threatening, punitive, your input a point moot Made unwanted by a system not of your want Your demand for better downgrade to stunt Areas not for living, your survival an escape The constant denial of the rape of the Cape Your immediate reality deemed below par Whilst raising an impossibly high bar Accountable to, responsible for But only those who matter more Your worth denied, your pain decried The little death each time you tried Now callous councillor at play Mouth what master and minister says say The delusional tunes of politics The evasive answers and dirty tricks While those who struggle through this weary life Balancing dangerously on the edge of the knife Hears how they are living the dream And should hold those responsible in high esteem SP