Brexit Babylon.

The sacred icons of the Tory Party
Lie broken in the inner sanctuary
Of the British psyche,
And no one cares to mend them.

Their burnished frames and gilded haloes
Blackened by the stench of cities
Sinking under the hollow god
Of sanctimonious piracy.

Young people with a social conscience
Despise the sacrificial altars
To capitalist supremacy,

They have ceased to crave the morning sun,
They seek the lights of democracy,
Of Human Rights, of absolute equality.

They dream a world with no hard borders,
No phoney saints in Tory colours
Scrawling lies on Campaign Buses,
No oligarchs, no poverty.

The sacred icons of the Tory Party
Lie broken in the inner sanctuary
Of the British psyche,
The votive candles burning low.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
November 24th. 2017.