Graham Craven

I bet I'll die a painful death
Agony assured until my final breath
Foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog
Rotting away like a rain soaked log.

Just when I think I can rest in peace
Death will come charging like a raging beast
Snapping, snarling, scenting a kill
Its prey brought down to be taken at will.

Should I succumb to a form of madness
Or develop a tyrannical taste for badness
String me up like a disgraced dictator
Then leave me to answer to my creator.

My father answered for all his good times
It cost him his soul before he sold mine
He left me a ticket for the down bound train
Visiting stops called 'Heartbreak' and 'Pain.'

Today as my glass looks less than half full
My outlook on life is morbid and dull
If I can keep my demons at bay
Tomorrow holds the promise of brand new day.

Dying's hard but no harder than living
And let's not forget that life keeps giving
Remember to go the extra mile
To see all that we have and then raise a smile.

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"There are too many mice in the fields,"
purred the perfectly groomed Lord Mayor.
"I've had my fill," he said, licking his lips,
"It's time someone else took their share."

"They could live like kings in the wild, windy woods,
with the foxes, the owls and the stoats.
Or, they could move to the coast and sail far, far away
in a tiny flotilla of boats."

"But the mice have lived here as long as the fields.
It's their home, it's where they belong.
If you want to move them Mr Lord Mayor,
then I for one say you're wrong."

These were the words of a world-weary dog
who had felt the hand of hate.
On shaky old legs, she stood up to the Mayor
to protect the mice from their fate.

"Without the mice, we'll lose the birds
and the fields will be blighted by pests.
We know that you're trying to move them
to feather your own grubby nest?"

"The mice that work in the Mansion House
have uncovered your 'Top Secret' plan.
It says you're going to build houses
to sell for as much as you can."

The Mayor's blood boiled and his face turned bright red.
Steam even hissed from his nose.
As his anger raged he started to shake
from the top of his head to his toes.

"The fields are worth millions," said the scheming Lord Mayor
"So what if some comes my way." 
I'm not going to let a few pesky mice
Stand between me and a whopping pay day."

The crowd fell as quiet as field mice
and the Mayor's mouth fell agape
Like an echo his words were repeated.
The old dog had caught them on tape!

Caught in the act the Lord Mayor was ruined
and so he chose to resign
Before clearing his desk, he alerted the press
that his plans had been redesigned.

The newspaper headlines for the very next day
Were rapidly corrected
"From this day on" the Lord Mayor decreed
"the fields will be protected."

"Mice will be free to call them their home
and forage amongst the hedgerow.
A field full of wheat is more precious than gold
as this old fool should know."

As for the old dog with shaky legs
I will show no pity!
Instead I will reward her
with the Freedom of the City.

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Hush now, quietly. Little Aylan's at rest.
The savage waves that stole his life now lapping at his chest.

Say a silent prayer now. He's reached the promised land.
Lifeless amongst the driftwood washed up on Turkish sand.

Softly now, gently. Lift him from the shore.
He's finally escaped the brutality of war.

Weep now, cry. Shed a salty tear.
For all the other children who live their lives in fear.

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