The following poem, author unknown, was found on a Flashdrive preserved beneath the ruins of Old London, excavated by the Northern Nations Archaeologist Team in 2237, over two hundred years after the Great Invasion. The poem is now displayed in the Renaissance Museum as a poignant reminder of the Lost Years.
A New CreedThe sun rises, and sets, and the world turns In the clear sky, and if I close my eyes I can hear the birds sing their happy lie, Though Paris has fallen, and London burns, And in the smoke-stained streets men lie rotting, Unburied, unshriven, easy pickings For the Tower crows. Shakespeare and Dickens Wouldn’t let this heartbreak be forgotten, They would immortalise that historic Day when our green and precious Earth, our home, Was invaded, when, although unwelcome, They darkened our skies with their great warships, That momentous day, when all working men Took to the streets with spades and kitchen knives And fought to defend their homes, gave their lives For their wives and children, fought even when The black soldiers outnumbered them ten to One, till they fell in lines like dominoes, While the women wept for their dead heroes. Then it was their turn, as the cold wind blew Down the death-filled streets, to try and protect Their sobbing children, the screaming babies, To the acrid end. All died. Though maybe There are others, like me, in this crushed, wrecked World, who have survived. But we are scattered, Homeless, hungry, frightened and so alone In this alien world of death, bleached bone And burned flesh. Our tender souls are battered Beyond repair, suppressed. We can’t go back To what we were. We are now a new breed Of man, with a new goal and a new creed, To finish the soldiers, the beasts in black. We will fight on, no matter what the cost, Though all is lost, and all will ever be lost.