The National Health Service: From the cradle to

The National Health Service: From the cradle to the Grave.

There is a storm coming.

It may be tea cup sized

In a scheme

Of grand proportions.

Barely registering

On the beaufort scale.

A flying clipper would

Not fill a sail

With such a gentle

Ragged breath,

As the world

And the agents

Of its turning

Remain indifferent

To the quiet rage

Of suffering.

The slipping away

In darkened rooms.

Watched over

By the grieving,

Too numbed by

Lack of sleep

And sustenance

To rail against the world.

The injustice

And inevitability

Of its progress.

The certainty

Of its continuance.

Regardless of the cost

In good lives lost

To the indifference

Of pragmatism.

The primary

Health care need

Draws the purse strings

Tight.

Lives given

Little consequence

In the politics of shame,

Practiced by charlatans

Presided over by crooks.

When outcomes are measured

And held to account

In a finely struck

Balance

Of the books.