12 Dec 2015 – Tomorrow

Squatting in our mud-walled hogans,
shouting rabble-rousing slogans.
Each accuser, each defendent,
fighting over old amendments.
All barking dogs devoid of wit –
you’d think we fought for holy writ,
but no, forefathers wrote those lines
as they thought best for their own times.
But we, it seems, are not so wise.
How many more condemned to die?

“It’s All or Nothing!” chant the crazed,
so blood still stains the stones which pave
our streets and, so it seems, our hearts
as all good sense just falls apart.
And all whose thoughts we most disdain
receive from us a demon’s name,
well branded for the next day’s news
whose source of income’s singing blues,
selling hopelessness and sorrow,
until we’ve foresworn tomorrow.