The reaper prowls the corridors of power
like a bony prison warden
on death row inmates’ final hours
The clock strikes.
the bells chime goodnight
another day of corruption
meals to disrupt, dodgy deals to construct
poor people’s needs to tear up
Death sentence politics
where they play the same party tricks
pull out the same old lies
stealing food like thieves in the night
killing with just a flick of a pen
or a chilling soundbite
Death sentence politics
token gesture, sticking plaster quick fix
unless you’re a party investor
incestuous nature to their shared endeavour
playing games with our lives
not a shred of care
or humanity there
in their palatial house
decorated with gold lined chairs
Death sentence politics
it’s the way they get their kicks
through hate, hurt and spite
they bait, hunt and bite
toeing party lines
to make us fall for their crooked crimes
Death sentence politics
bleed us dry with thorny sticks
beat us down with lies and conflict
until the results are in
and we vote them in again
will we ever learn anything?
Death row politics
no trying to exercise rights
or its the electric chair of life
plugged directly to the mains
lethal injection of your mind
as they dull our frazzled brains
Thanks For Reading.
Peace, Love and Poetry.
Kyle.
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