Treasure Island

Don Pearson

(12/01/1950 / England)

Election


The season now upon us
Breathes out darkness, sucks in light
And the words that swathe the policies
Encompass us in night.

For Truth is held in prison
And is grieving for her soul,
Awaiting execution
While liars drum a roll.

The snappy phrase, evasion
And the blaring trumpet's sound
Distract us while she's buried
Truth's bones will not be found.

"Progress", "change", "a bright new day, "
And the empty race was run
The seasons run their courses -
The Earth spins round the sun.

The dying stars are riven
Their dust will scatter and burn
A golden dawn was promised
But night will soon return.

28th May 2012

Submitted: Saturday, June 16, 2012
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