Them - a Poem
Them.
We say them,
like we’re not the same.
Like we’re better.
Different.
Not one.
Children
We were all born,
and we all dreamed.
Astronauts. Racers. Footballers. Princesses.
We imagined. We believed.
And then came the bombs.
The hate.
The indifference.
Took those futures before they became memories.
We all stared up,
gasping at the enormity of the sky.
Wondering —
Why? What? How?
Now those questions lie crushed,
like bones beneath the rubble of a home
destroyed by a drone
launched from somewhere safe.
Somewhere far.
Somewhere convinced it was right.
Borders
We say we’re full.
That Britain is breaking.
We say
the NHS is on its knees,
that there’s no housing,
no doctors,
no police,
no hope.
And we ask —
Was this “them”?
Are they responsible for
years of short-term thinking,
destructive policy,
political vanity,
cultural decay?
No.
We are.
But still —
we look sideways.
And still —
we say
them.
But why them?
Why not us?
Together —
as one.