Tales of life:

Where now democracy…

Running down the street, so fast, so quick
The feeling in his gut so painfully sick
Running from the firestorm once again
He rushes past bodies of many young men.
Children lie everywhere bloody and broken
Bombs, not people, have viciously spoken
And all to gain a small piece of ground
While innocent ones die without sound.

The feeling revolts him that he may be the cause
A media freelance who phones in the scores
The results are simple to calculate
Nobody wins in this war of hate.
Wives become widows with tear-stained faces
Husbands no longer sit down in their places
And children, now orphans will take up the gun
Is that what they really want for their son?

For civilisation may have finally gone
We’re all of us guilty, every one
The future looks bleak for children to come
Who don’t see a father, just a hard-working Mum.
Respect ever quicker is leeching away
For each human’s right to have their say
And democracy now serves the rich, not the poor
As freelance reporters still phone in the score.

©Joe Wilson – Where now democracy…2017