The simple act of voting holds most
Political expression in this land
And now I often wonder, is a ballot
Only a smokescreen we hold in hand?
I remember eagerly awaiting
The first vote I might see cast
My youthful heart first time broken
Though it would not be the last
Many hopes were pinned that time
On a young and idealistic man
Who was just gathering momentum
When a bullet dropped him as he ran
Since then I’ve been disheartened
By pretenders to the throne
Who wave bright flags of promise
Then squandered confidences shown
The dreams of so many people
Are by needs linked to such men
Who promise to effect some change
Then sell their electorate out again
There is so much deep deception
That moves stealthily from ‘The Hill’
And now I am often left to wonder...
When that bullet found our Bobby
What else did it manage to kill?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.