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Throw away Britain
I wish I could
find some peace for it’s all but disappeared.
I’d like to open my windows to feel the warm summer breeze.
I wish I could travel to work and always get a seat,
not pushed and hassled in a cattle crush state.
I wish queues would resume along with politeness and respect.
I wish I felt safe in this dangerous state.
But those feelings, those hopes, and security,
they’ve all but gone with my maturity,
disappeared from this place as fast as my youth,
politeness and respect that is.
They’ve been replaced with bombs, knives, guns and dis-respect
Kids screaming and fighting and damaging the place
The parents threatening to smash in your face
If you dare say a word about politeness and respect.
See the old sofa chucked out on the street?
It tells a story more than any of you could predict
It’s throw away Britain, in more ways than one:
Throw away your rubbish, a life,
but not the gun.
It’s a sad day for me to realize this now
but it’s a throwaway Britain that’s killing my soul.
by Anne-Marie Griffin
Read the story behind this poem
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