imperial shitstorm

Before I was born,

The island where I now live,

Was one origin

Of a worldwide shitstorm.

A tornado of piracy,

A cyclone of brutality,

Sending ships

To inflict war, exploitation

And imperial inhumanity.

It was not unique in this,

And what’s more,

Maybe its people learnt

From what had gone before,

When longships and galleys

Arrived on its shores.

For too long a time

There was success

In these crimes,

Because it had the luck

To strike when

Its victims were

Divided and weak.

Then its sins were glorified,

Dressed with stolen jewels,

Silks, gold and furs

And myths that dignified

Theft’s cause.

Many who had stayed home,

Responded with

Loud applause

Since the imperial shitstorm

Transformed them

Into some sort of master race

Told they were superior

To others in

Other places.

For a while

This obscene panoply

Trundled on like

Some vast stone Victorian memorial

Dragged by proles,

Peasants and slaves

Trailing behind

Tears, bloodstains and

Broken bodies and souls

For the benefit

Of ruling ghouls.

But it’s now going

Slower and slower,

As its victims have rebelled,

Now it can barely crawl.

It needs sticks, supports

And surgeries

To stagger along at all

But it is still greeted

With cheers

For every lurch it makes

‘Reform’, they cry

Yet it’s far too late

For this lurching zombie

Parasite state.