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Born Too Late.

Rapture at a world that was
kept from me,
Incandescence guiding my

I’ve never been there,
Where I return,
Though I know it well.

Forget Abba.

I give the gift of authenticity.
Savour the uncontrolled.
The crudity.

It is emerging,
A new type of dawning.
It crawls from the underground…

The Pistols pray for her
rescue as the Rats
race for employment.

There’s no crust to be had,
Though bombs are in
their plenty.

The first army of terror
builds them whilst
Bob tells his Baby
not to worry.

Because every little thing is going to be alright.

I have heliotrope hair and
boots of cherry red.
Cheese is spoken from the most rambunctious of smiles
as I stamp in the revolt.

It’s what Doc. Martins are made for.

Punk overthrows the platform.
Social relevance
seeps, oozes
through the strings of their guitars.

I know the way of it.
Clash against the rebellion
and you

are left behind.


There is an Iron Fist
elevating apartheid
but I stand in Notting Hill and
rock against it.

Bring it down!

And down.

Down again,
To mine.

A different time.

For I was born too late.


About GinAndTulips

Gin and Tulips; The home of the frolicking G&T Lovers. Come in, pull up a comfy seat and make yourself at home. And if you like it. Join us.

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