This place called ‘Home’

What has happened to this place I call home?

Where are the children playing in the streets?

Locked away behind doors where they are safe

Exchanging imagination for computer games

Growing larger on ready meals with no exercise at all
Why do the old folk never walk the streets after dark?

Is it because they fear the youths on street corners?

But they have nowhere to go, no release for their boredom

No money in their pockets for the rising cost of entertainment

Playgrounds sit derelict, cordoned off for their safety
And why is there so much hatred?

Towards others that look so different to you and I

Media over sensationalistic journalism of half truths

Brainwashing those with lives already empty of meaningful employment

Jumping on bandwagons, following the crowd
What has happened to this place I call home?

No more borrowed sugar from the house next door

Always double checking doors and windows before retiring upstairs

Replaced are the letters from family far away with bills topped in red

And all the land over continues to spiral further from what I knew as home
Copyright: authorchrisbrown 


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