The Dispossessed

We came to this land, slaves or men free,

whatever we’d left never more would be.

We blazed and we conquered to make a new way;

we put in the sweat with little for pay.

We’d all left our Homeland, our ‘Country’ behind

not knowing the future or what we might find.

What we found was different to all we had known;

traumatised by the future we ourselves had sown.

Yes we were the folk who were Botany bound;

we came and we conquered all that we found.

All that was here had to now move aside;

this world had to change or else it died.

And so we ‘tamed her’ this land that was free

to be what we white folk all wanted to see.

Those were ‘the Blacks’ or so we named

those folks had to go, they wouldn’t be tamed.

There were no morals, ethics or care

from those with no Country, spirits stripped bare.

For those disposed have no Country to hold;

they only have care for Mammon and gold.

A man without Country is a lost man you see;

with a thirst for his place he’ll never be free.

So much was lost as we pillaged and burned

all that was not our way we violently spurned.

Our children we taught that our way was right

and against all others we always must fight.

For that is the way of the conquering hoard;

no spirit or meaning is our reward.

About a foolhardy florilegium

Nullius addictus iurare in verba magistri, quo me cumque rapit tempestas, deferor hospes.
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