A time traveller's lament

I land silent, unseen
in the peasant crowd 
from Bocking and Fobbing
with their brave demands
they meet the young King 
who agrees to  their terms 
but Watt Tyler is killed 
and then the young King
goes back on his word
making life much harsher
in the plague ravaged land.

From a welsh slate roof
I watch the scene below
where poor families picnic
in Peters Fields
a jolly day out
at the Chartist rally
their dream: votes for all !
Your horses charge at them
you mutilate women
you wipe blood from your sabres
at their Waterloo.

I weep on the cobbles while
the brass band leads
the grinning Pals Brigade 
marching off to France . 
Proud neighbours cheer
but have yet to see 
whole streets widowed
whole bodies broken
whole minds shattered
whole pages list the missing :
all really the fault
of  Gavrilo Princip ?

I watch in horror, unable to help
the miners at Orgreave
the crushed fans in Hillsborough
the wretched of Grenfell
throwing babies from windows.
You've  let down survivors
and the poor in death clad towers
then just like the young King
you lie to placate us :
I fly through the ages
but nothing has changed.

Tags: anger, hope, imagery,