The Plinth

The Plinth

Let’s all chastise their fortune
We have to mock our fame
Then pour our hate on forefathers
Obsess with throwing blame

Inside my mind the statues fall
They smash onto the floor
Just longer lines of empty plinths
I’m not sure what they’re for
As talk of pride has long since gone
We are the self tamed shrew
Who this is for I’m just not sure?
I don’t think they’ve a clue
When all we had has disappeared
Where do my old thoughts go?
Replaced by spiteful reverie
With words that I don’t know

When all the things we ever did
Still blame the things we do
The empty plinths of mockery
They still won’t flatter you

©KarlTearney