Dear Mister Prime Minister, Was it worth it? Was it worth cutting off Our country’s trade benefits, our commodity trade, Like the testicles of a prizewinning bull?
Was it worth it? Was it worth tightening our borders, Like a wafer-thin corset, And muddying our country’s worldwide relationships?
Was it worth it? Was it worth denying millions of Britons Visas, healthcare and education Across the globe? Are you worried That Britain’s not British enough?
The glory days are over, Mr. Prime Minister. The isolated Rising Sun was outdated When faced with the advanced Western armadas. Just like your ideals. We must change.
And no matter how much you try to dumb us down, Force us to take pride in our own culture, While ignoring others, You can’t stop the wave of the now. You can’t pull The crusty, old mouldy wool Over our eyes forever
My muse is like an excitable dog. It catches sight of totally random things and starts yapping and running around and wagging its tail and WILL NOT STOP until I write a poem about it.My poetry is sometimes based on personal experience and sometimes on other things. Aside from that, I enjoy video games (My favourite game series is Mass Effect) and the popular television show My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
Waiting under the opaque moon a primeval instinct takes over you and you start arriving. A black bone renders the ash on your forehead and you complete the circle – reaching childhood; you start climbing the ladder, for instantaneous release.
As the singularity draws near, I look on with trepidation. What lies beyond i do not know. A technological marvel some say, Nirvana it will be. Others say a dystopian future awaits. No one knows for sure! I think back
Again I wake in this wretched place Where the devil glares with grimaced face Reading my heart, stripping it bare Savoring the scent of the secrets there I’m slipping and sliding, the ice too thin Carefully creeping, lest I fall
Leave me behind, like they did. Self blame with no more to gain. Pain lingers around my neck like a bib. A childish wreck, worse than a train. Come back and finish what you started! This body keeps spilling dark