The impoverished poet wandered the wastes of the west isle.
She thought of what was promised, She was in deep denial.
She sees a ship upon the Mersey with men and munitions sunk by nuclear hellfire.
Young boys drafted to ravage lands unknown in search of oil for the backers of liars.
Were bombs and bullets on the ballots? Or did she misread the booth?
Twisted men brought twisted wars of terror to traumatise youth.
You see war changes people. It changes nations,
Changes hearts, ideas and expectations.
Each bomb dropped is a day stolen from a mother and a life stolen from a son,
Can you really justify this carnage, even if your side won?
The impoverished poet walks through what was once a great city,
In the ruins she looks out at the sparkling sea and feels shitty.
She knows the answer. It was no.