3.11 Not my King
Mr Charles Windsor has taken to the throne of the beautiful land that I am proud to call my home,
With sadness a man, another mere mortal, has lost his mother, entering into an emotional unknown.
While this news is tragic, it is an end to a chapter that was representative of oppression and Empire,
But please Mr Windsor, no majesty are you to me, no knee will I bow, and absolutely never to call you sire.
This man is no King to me. Democracy thrown aside, no votes cast. Yet this man now occupies the throne.
A King you may wish to be, but a privileged brat you are. Your subject I am not. You are not my King.
Just because mummy and daddy procreated makes Mr Windsor no more important than you or me,
Yet lunacy fills our nation as they weep for this demigod they have chosen to create and do now see.
A stubborn, selfish and a brat of a man dares to take the highest office of our proud and mighty land,
Meddling, rude and incompetence is now who ‘serves’ the people and that he claims to understand.
A petulant man child who throws a tantrum over a simple pen now issues laws and Royal decrees.
A King you may wish to be, but a privileged brat you are. Your subject I am not. You are not my King.
The time of Kings and Queens must now end. The symbols of colonialism and privilege must conclude,
To cling to this outdated institution is dangerous and only to ourselves do we deceive and delude.
Mr Windsor, please do what is right. Abdicate the office that you have no democratic right to hold,
Open this land to its true potential and to a mighty British Republic should we unlock and behold.
But the right thing you will never do, self-sacrifice will never come from one spoiled and oh-so-rude.
A King you may wish to be, but a privileged brat you are. Your subject I am not. You are not my King.
The late Queen was a servant of the people at the same time as living in a state of absolute privilege,
Never truly knowing or understanding the real folk, the common folk, those from tiny towns or villages.
Yet tears well up across the land as the baton of rule passes without a vote from mother to her son,
Holding no qualification other than that of birth. A new era of shame has now in our beautiful land begun.
Fear not Mr Windsor, the British public will sadly endorse you and learn to live with their own disprivilege.
A King you may wish to be, but a privileged brat you are. Your subject I am not. You are not my King.
***
Jamie Scott Watkinson-Harvey
With sadness a man, another mere mortal, has lost his mother, entering into an emotional unknown.
While this news is tragic, it is an end to a chapter that was representative of oppression and Empire,
But please Mr Windsor, no majesty are you to me, no knee will I bow, and absolutely never to call you sire.
This man is no King to me. Democracy thrown aside, no votes cast. Yet this man now occupies the throne.
A King you may wish to be, but a privileged brat you are. Your subject I am not. You are not my King.
Just because mummy and daddy procreated makes Mr Windsor no more important than you or me,
Yet lunacy fills our nation as they weep for this demigod they have chosen to create and do now see.
A stubborn, selfish and a brat of a man dares to take the highest office of our proud and mighty land,
Meddling, rude and incompetence is now who ‘serves’ the people and that he claims to understand.
A petulant man child who throws a tantrum over a simple pen now issues laws and Royal decrees.
A King you may wish to be, but a privileged brat you are. Your subject I am not. You are not my King.
The time of Kings and Queens must now end. The symbols of colonialism and privilege must conclude,
To cling to this outdated institution is dangerous and only to ourselves do we deceive and delude.
Mr Windsor, please do what is right. Abdicate the office that you have no democratic right to hold,
Open this land to its true potential and to a mighty British Republic should we unlock and behold.
But the right thing you will never do, self-sacrifice will never come from one spoiled and oh-so-rude.
A King you may wish to be, but a privileged brat you are. Your subject I am not. You are not my King.
The late Queen was a servant of the people at the same time as living in a state of absolute privilege,
Never truly knowing or understanding the real folk, the common folk, those from tiny towns or villages.
Yet tears well up across the land as the baton of rule passes without a vote from mother to her son,
Holding no qualification other than that of birth. A new era of shame has now in our beautiful land begun.
Fear not Mr Windsor, the British public will sadly endorse you and learn to live with their own disprivilege.
A King you may wish to be, but a privileged brat you are. Your subject I am not. You are not my King.
***
Jamie Scott Watkinson-Harvey