Let's Exist On Bread And Water Poem by Mark Heathcote

Someone's praying behind that architrave.
Trying to make a living, keeping some faith,
writing unread poetry in short communiqués.
Tears abridging the years enshrined—molten,
now we're all charged with others' lives to save;
but in truth, we all feel broken wide open.

If I'm not mistaken, I'm enslaved.
Nevertheless, we are all prisoners.
Our neighbours are very easily swayed-
to inform the local authorities;
it's now that I fear all those Grand Inquisitors.
And their toxic divergent ideologies:

Tormented, let's exist on bread and water.
Remember that in some other quarter
Death is in government and incomplete-
control firing bullets in war-torn streets
who cares if we're seen kissing indiscreetly?
As long as our hearts aren't heavy with deceit.