The Numbers Game Poem by keith brown

I’m sick of making a rod for my own back
Albeit
A rod of my own making.
Policy!
Promises made long ago.
Today.
Not easily forsaken.

Rhetorical speeches that promise,
Territory;
Lost or gained
Mission clearly stated.
The best not the biggest our aim.

Integrity and, honour
forgotten.
As we grow,
from seeds we have sown.
A pledge
so easily broken
When you can’t count your word as your own.

Our vision and message now clouded
As others seek to place blame,
Conscience forgotten, forgiven?

Justification?

The Numbers Game