CUMMING BACK, or, THE DRAGONS STAY DARK

 
 
If we were to fully question our saints would those
Who follow faith lose their bearings? For, unknown
To many, there is a soul slicked stain to bright wings.
 
The Order of Saint Michael and Saint George is one
Of England’s prized medals, given to those working
Abroad who deliver what this disillusioned isle sought
 
To bring. At the centre of its star sits a small enamel
Painting of the aforementioned Saint Michael stamping
On the neck of a black man, the Devil of course,
 
To white eyes that fill with the froth of insanity
And importance, not to mention the evil of a history
Authored and torn by their lies. Such lies fuel
 
The heart of this much deceived country, as England
Becomes its own form of contagion, or cancer, through
The colonial shame of its past. And which we now see
 
Repeat through the racism that would claim us,
As the former dragon opponents serve approved forces
Who are there to suppress the black heart. As well as
 
The neck. So on whose side stands that angel?
In whose home or quarter does justice and faith
Now patrol? The death of George Floyd may not
 
Have occured in this country, but so many have.
Now, the danger is in whose name rests control?
One of the former recipients of the prize was Sir Evelyn
 
Baring. Govenor of Kenya in the fifties, his concentration
Camps for the natives surpassed the Nazis, as his own
Attorney General described. He raked the Kenyans
 
Like earth after authorising their beatings and destruction
Casting their wasted flesh to the oceans as the will
Of his whim, Lord and tides. When the facts were
 
Questioned he proscribed that contaminated water
Dispelled him, as he sanctioned dark magic from
The whitest of wands: man as filth. And Empire as soil
 
For a strain or stem that’s pure poison, rising up
To breach roses and to spoil the seed each man spills.
Sir Evelyn Baring was Mary Wakefield’s Grandfather.
 
And Mary Wakefield is Dominic Cummings wife.
How far does the fruit fall from the tree from which
So many were hanging,  if not by neck then by shadow,
 
And how much influence  leavens the practise and codes
Of each life? We are all ourselves, we believe, separate
To ancestors, so just as a strain of belief rides blood’s river
 
It can easily be diverted for sure. But then of course,
There’s her man and the Empire he seeks to make
In our background. Was this woman formed by a template
 
That sought some manner of fouled continuance in the law?
No-one can say, but the connection appals me. As it does
You, I am certain, for what this country is, or was, isn’t us.
 
But it could well be those who seek to control and corrupt
Things from the rules for Pub tables to the point at which
Veins split and bust. We were led to believe in Saint George
 
When he wrested the dragon, whose fired breath brought
Destruction to every blade of grass and each home.
But now his order’s been stained by the simple fact
 
Of one medal. That it exists is the issue, prized and
Pinned on those eager to prise black flesh from white
Bone.  That story’s come back through this very connection.
 
And the history of oppression that once granted England
False pride. Now, in the fray, we seek strange directions.
I beg once more for discernment,  a sacrificed skill in these
 
Times, but it will be all we have left, as they raise their new
Swords against us. The glint of steel may have faded,
But in their legislations and actions, I hear the echo
 
Of the millions lost to murder and the millions more
Yet to die. This could be a world that turns back
To some of its former horrors. Examine those behind,
 
Beside and before you, and in doing so, find the reason
To rise and resist and defy. Who represents what we are?
And remember, that you can’t tame a dragon. They just
 
Burn through the flag they were born to.
As do the Angels.
 
Now, can anyone tell me why? 
 
 
 
 
 
.
 
                                                                                David Erdos July 17th 2020
 
 
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