Just the prayers of the saints that holds the kingdom together. Though it’s brewing. In the churches and pubs, as willow strikes the leather.
The spark lit the Sandgrounders voice, then roared the whispers of a nation. In the raging storm through the fiery furness, a glimmer for the fearless lies at the next station.
In this once proud Christian land, in the heat we remember. A feeling only a cry can describe. It’s not a dream, this is our country, it’s a will to survive.
We’ll march on the capitol remembering every lie, masks down, banners high. The streets will thunder the Cross will fly.
The King will cry into his prayer mat, the crown on his head will tremble. Our master Starmer their slave, this ain’t a grain in the sand, Tommy can assemble.
Smith Shine Poetry 
This is such a powerful and evocative piece of writing. 🔥 The imagery you’ve woven—churches, pubs, storms, banners, and the clash of voices—creates a vivid sense of both struggle and resilience. The rhythm carries the weight of conviction, almost like a chant or anthem, while the themes of survival, truth, and defiance make it deeply stirring. ✨ It’s the kind of piece that doesn’t just describe a moment but makes the reader feel the urgency and intensity behind it. Truly compelling work! 👏
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Thank you for your time Vijay much appreciated. It was written from the depths..
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