by Nick Gisburne
I’ll tell you what this dirt has done for me:
A little more than nothing, give or take.
A ball of broken rock and stinking sea.
I don’t know what excuse you think I’ll make.
A fertile planet? Maybe once, but when?
It might as well be never and a day.
My grandpa said the oldest of our men
Could not recall the light before the grey.
They spoke of it in books, before the ban,
Before they tried to hide what died - the truth.
We’re part of nothing. No one has a plan,
And no one cares for innocence, or youth.
Inject your rations, boy, and take your pill.
You haven’t got a hope. You never will.
